


It's strictly business.

by altilis



Category: Star Trek, The Godfather (1972 1974 1990)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altilis/pseuds/altilis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Godfather fusion. Starfleet protects the Federation - for a price, and they find ways to make a little extra for themselves. Spock knows that he is supposed to keep Jim out of "the family business," that Pike has plans for Jim that don't include extortion and murder. But when a new weapons dealer takes a shot at Pike in order to force Starfleet into a shady corporate agreement, Jim throws himself into the fray.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's strictly business.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my goodness. This has been a long time coming, and it's been an exceptionally long road from beginning to end. I would like to heap loads of love upon my betas/cheerleaders, [winterover](http://winterover.livejournal.com) and [kinderjedi](http://kinderjedi.livejournal.com), as well as on my artist and mixer, [nescienx](http://nescienx.livejournal.com) and [sullacat](http://sullacat.tumblr.com). They've been very patient with me through the whole course of this fic, and I wouldn't have been half as motivated to finish with all of them.
> 
> Enjoy!  
>  **Link to Art:** [Art Post](http://nescienx.livejournal.com/290155.html)  
>  **Link to Mix:** [Mix Post](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1046523)

Spock sits near the window of the office, balancing a glass of over-sweet lemonade on the arm rest of his chair while he watches the party outside. At the desk across the room, Christopher talks to a woman too much of a smuggler to say what she wants, and Spock can feel in the air that Pike's patience is wearing thin.

"Mudd," Christopher says to a woman dressed in a leather jacket and dark, rough jeans, her long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. "If you had promised us your loyalty before using our lanes, you wouldn't have been attacked by the Rigellians in the first place." 

Mudd shifts in her seat, set in front of Christopher's desk and isolated from the rest of the room. "Well, I didn't, but I am now. What can I give you?"

Christopher shakes his head, waving off her suggestion. "That's not how it works. I'll ask you for your skills when I need them. Until then, keep in touch."

The woman nods, stands, and reaches her hand across Christopher's desk. At first Spock tenses, irked by how close she gets to him, but Christopher smiles tightly and shakes her hand. 

After she leaves, stomping past a plush leather sofa and a low coffee table, Spock glances back out the window to watch the crowd ebb and flow between the dance area under a white canopy and the food stations on the patio. He sees Nyota talking and laughing with Gaila and Christine, all of them in bright summer dresses and wide-brimmed sun hats. Nyota's has a large green ribbon that streams out to the side, contrasting against the bright yellow of her dress.

"Spock." 

He looks up to see Christopher looking at him with a faint smile. Their guest has left. "Yes?"

"Let's take a break. Your cup's empty." Christopher pushes himself out of his leather armchair, sighing.

Spock stands and walks over to Christopher's side, his concern more a habit than distress. After a few years in deep space, Spock tells himself its natural to worry for his captain-turned-chief executive. "If you would like me to bring you something, Christopher…" 

"I'm not that old yet, Spock. Besides, I should show my face once or twice at my own barbecue." They walk through the ranch house, winding through groups taking shelter in the air-conditioned kitchen or refilling their drinks. Everyone smiles at Christopher; Spock manages to be the unnoticed shadow behind him. "Is Jim here yet?"

"I have not seen him."

"Well," Christopher steps out onto the patio and the wall of loud conversation and music hits them full force, "He better show before we run out of ribs."

Christopher has invited the best and brightest to this yearly company retreat. With any other company one would be suspicious as to why many of them are so young - but that is simply the nature of their Fleet. They take the best jobs, the riskiest ones, the most lucrative missions. Those who survive remain loyal; those who find enough wisdom retire early. Those who retire - who live that long - move off-planet, they find good contacts, they relay potential missions back to the company. 

That's how Spock describes the company's success to investors. 

Christopher goes towards a throng of his leading captains, the oldest and the most lucrative, while Spock meanders through groups of the younger recruits, some he hired (and poached) himself. Nyota stands by the fruit table, perusing a tray of sliced mangoes, when Spock comes to her side. "Nyota," he says softly, touching her arm. She smiles and leans up to kiss his cheek, and they're briefly hidden from the rest of the patio under the brim of her hat. 

"Busy day?"

"As expected." He returns the kiss to her cheek before looking over the fruit table. "Are you enjoying the event?"

"Of course - when else do I get the chance to just talk?" She reaches over to pluck a strawberry off the tray and holds it up to him. "Do you want one?"

Spock blinks at her. "Yes, but do y--" Nyota shoves the fruit between his lips; it's bigger than Spock anticipates, and for a moment he struggles to get a good bite on it.

She laughs and touches her hand to his chest. "Sorry, Spock," she says with an unapologetic tone, "but I know you wouldn't eat on the job otherwise. Oh, Captain, hi there."

Spock turns to see Christopher behind him again, but he's still eating the bulk of the strawberry. Christopher laughs. "Having a good time, Uhura? I'm just dropping by to tell Spock I'm heading back in. No, Spock, that's all right. Take a break. I'll handle it."

Christopher doesn't give Spock a chance to protest; he leaves before Spock has swallowed the strawberry and disappears back into the crowd by the patio. Spock looks at Nyota, who laughs and offers him another strawberry. Taking it with his fingers this time, he tips his head and says, "Thank you, but I must accompany him."

Nyota's smile softens. She looks back at the house, then back to Spock, and nods. "Just make some time for us, okay?" She reaches out to touch his arm. "I don't know how long Jim's going to stay here before he takes the next job."

"Certainly not before I have an entire day to spend with you." Spock has enough pull to dictate when jobs start and end. All it takes is a small suggestion to Christopher, or some time on their servers, and he could change their entire quarterly schedule around. But he has no reason to, and Christopher knows this, and trusts him.

"Then clear up your schedule." Nyota's hand slides down his arm to close over his fingers, squeezing. "I'll be in San Francisco."

Spock squeezes her hand. "I will ask for some time."

"You'd better." Spock feels her worry through their contact, even if he can't hear it in her voice. He kisses her cheek again, and Nyota returns with one at the very corner of his mouth, but no less quick and chaste. 

When he lets go of her hand and starts towards the house again, his heart still beats fast in his side and he meanders through the crowd with Nyota on his mind, and he finishes off the strawberry she had given him.

There's a flash of blond hair out of the corner of his eye, and he hears someone - a few someones - calling "Jim!" towards the back gate. People cluster and the din of conversation grows louder, but rather than go inside, Spock lingers by the door and waits. 

He sees Jim, still dressed in his captain's gold shirt, step around clusters of people towards the grills with a man trailing behind him. The newcomer wears a blue uniform shirt. Science? Medical? Have they just get back from their ship, when the rest of their crew has been Earth-side for a day or more?

When Jim finally reaches the grills, Spock walks up to his side. "Jim."

Jim spins on his heel, but when he sees Spock he grins. "Spock! Didn't expect to see you out here having fun."

"And I did not expect to see you in uniform."

"This?" Jim looks down at his gold shirt. "Didn't have time to change."

"Jim - "

"What's the worst that could happen, huh? Someone takes a picture of my uniform? Please. Oh, Spock, I don't think you've met my Chief Medical Officer." Jim stands aside to reveal the man in blue lingering behind him. He claps a hand on the man's shoulder and drags him up to his side. "This is Doctor McCoy."

"Leonard McCoy," the doctor says, and he offers his hand. 

Spock looks at it - and while he appreciates the aesthetics of it and wonders at its skill, he doesn't return it. He casts a quick glance over the rest of his form: the clean lines of his trousers to suggest he just took them from his closet, the little red mark that peeks over the collar of his black undershirt, the ring on the pinky finger of his left hand. "Pardon me if I do not shake your hand." He doesn't like to tread where Jim's been.

"Vulcans," Jim says, putting a hand on McCoy's wrist and lowering it back down to his side. "It's the touch telepathy, Spock doesn't want you to know all his dirty thoughts--"

"Jim." It's nothing Spock hasn't heard before, either from Jim or his brother, but he had hoped they could remain, for once, politely cordial to each other in public. "Christopher has asked to see you, at your earliest convenience."

"Yeah, after I grab some lunch, okay? And maybe when I find Sam. After that I'll be right in." He offers Spock a smile, which only assures Spock half as much as Jim might like. 

He gives a nod to both of them, "Your brother should be checking with the caterers in the front. Jim, Doctor." He steps inside the house, feeling both of their stares at the back of his neck.

 

\---

"I thought you said no one would be working at this party," Bones says as they sit down at a makeshift table at the edge of the patio, far enough away that they won't be bothered by streams of people moving to and fro.

Jim looks from one side of the yard to the other. "…do you see anyone hard at work?"

"That Vulcan didn't look like he was here for fun."

Jim laughs. "Yeah, well, like I said, Spock isn't much for parties."

"Then why is he here?"

"He lives here." 

Bones frowns. "But this is your family's house, right?"

"Right." Jim forgets, most times, that most people don't conduct business like Jim's family does - that the line isn't so blurred between work and family. He takes a long drink of his beer before starting to explain. "Spock started out at the Academy about six years before I did. At first he wanted in on the computer research we do there, but then he started to work with Chris and now he sort of does…everything." Jim shrugged. "Sometimes he stays in the city - his father has a house near Embassy Row - but apparently it's more 'logical' to stay here. I don't blame him. Saves Chris the trouble of calling." 

"When did he move in?"

Jim leans back in the seat, staring up at the patio trusses while he thinks. "About a year before I started at the Academy."

"So you've known each other for a while now." Bones has that knowing look in his eyes that, on any other occasion, might have Jim flirting back. But this time uncertainty rolls in his stomach. He doesn't want to explain what Spock means to his family, or himself, because then he'd have to look at all the anger and missteps they've had along the way.

"Something like that," he says, and starts to dig into his potato salad. He and Spock had burned hot and bright and then it was over, and Jim was sure, after seven months of no contact, they had really put this thing to rest. Whatever it was.

Bones leans back in his seat, bringing his elbow up to rest on the back of the chair. "Did you and your brother grow up here?"

Jim shrugs. "Mostly. I was eleven when Mom brought us here, so I still remember Iowa." But more things have happened here - stronger, better memories, but also awkward first times and worst heart aches. 

He catches Bones looking at a tall pine acting as shade near the patio. "I broke my arm trying to climb that tree."

"Color me surprised." Bones deadpans.

"Hey, it wasn't my fault!" Jim laughs, flicking a corn chip at Bones. "Sam was throwing rocks at me, and I was trying to throw them back. Lost my balance, and, well…Chris thought Mom would come home from Andoria and skin us all. Good thing Boyce was in town."

"Then your mom and Chris…?" Bones gets that knowing look on his face again.

"You know - I don't know. When I was a kid I used to think so, but they're not - they're rarely on the same planet, and they're not married, sometimes they fight, sometimes they just run off to Canada. I don't know. But she trusted Sam and I to Chris."

"Some would call that marriage."

"Yeah, and some people call me a mercenary. Doesn't change a thing. You gonna finish off that potato salad?"

 

After Jim's finished off two burgers and Bones has found some of their crew in the crowd, Jim slips inside to talk to Chris. Boyce and Number One mix drinks in the kitchen, mostly for themselves. They're Chris' old friends and his oldest colleagues, usually staying close to deal with the details, but sometimes Number One goes out into the black to manage things first-hand. Both of them are somewhat like an aunt and an uncle to Jim and Sam, if a little terrifying sometimes.

He walks slowly when he hears voices, knowing he'll learn more if he doesn't interrupt, and peers into the study to see Chris and Spock standing across from each other. 

"Is it really necessary to go to Moscow tonight?"

"Yes. The sooner we get him out of that arrangement, the faster we can get him working here."

"Is there any other reason - "

"I don't want Marcus stealing this one, too. There's a non-stop that leaves the bay at 2200."

Then Chris looks past Spock towards the door. "Jim! I heard the Enterprise came back with all her warp cores intact. Congrats."

Jim laughs, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Yeah, third time's the charm, right?"

"That must be it." Chris smiles. "Let's talk about what you're going to be doing this quarter, then I'll let you get back to the party…Spock, stay for a bit. You'll need to schedule this."

Spock had started to walk towards the door, but at Chris' suggestion, he stops, turns to face them, and gives a little nod before he joins them again. He sits on the same couch as Jim, but in the far corner.

He doesn't say the anything the entire meeting, and Jim feels the awkward press of his silent anger. Chris is immune.

 

\---

They follow Chris out of the office and into the kitchen where the party opens up to welcome them back into the excitement of food and drink, and Jim almost is ready to jump back in until he looks over his shoulder and sees Spock disappearing into the guest room. He frowns, waves off a beer that someone offers him, and walks back into the hallway, stepping slowly until he comes to the threshold of the guest room. 

It's not really a guest room anymore: Spock always stays in this one when he visits the ranch overnight, and over the years the shelves and the desk have become dotted with Vulcan trinkets and glass sculptures and hand-woven wall hangings.

Spock stands with his back to the door, and he doesn't turn when Jim steps into the room. "You don't want to go to Moscow," Jim says with a half-guess.

"I had started to make other plans." 

Jim shuts the door behind him and locks it with a click, then steps up behind Spock. He reaches out to touch his back. The tension beneath his fingers loosens as he makes his way around to face Spock. "With Uhura?" 

Spock's hand snaps up to grab Jim's arm and pull it away, and Jim lets him, though that grip will bruise soon enough. "Why do you ask?"

"Because she's my friend." Jim brings up his hand to grip Spock's wrist, fingers and palm pressed against bare skin. "And you are, too. So stop with the fucking scare tactics and tell me what's going on in Moscow." 

"It is not meant to be your concern, Jim." Spock's grip loosens from his arm and shakes off the hold at his wrist, but then he touches Jim's chest, curls his fingers in the gold shirt. Jim sees the way Spock's gaze hovers on his mouth, on his throat, and Jim can't help a grim smile. His hand traps Spock's against his chest, gripping tight over his knuckles.

"Oh yeah? I can fly a ship in and out of a nebula with three pirates on my tail, but I can't handle a little corporate espionage?"

"It is not espionage--"

"Did you hear what I said?" Jim gives an exasperated sigh, and his other hand cups behind Spock's head. "Don't be a hypocrite." 

He kisses Spock first - he always has to, Spock's too wound up to cross the threshold himself - and even though Jim tries to go for soft and slow, Spock surges forward, bites at his lip, pushes him back against the edge of the desk while he reaches past Jim to drag his fingers against the window and command the glass to darken. Jim matches him, violence for violence, until he pulls back, breathless, and glances down to make sure that Spock's lip isn't bloodied green. There are too many people out there, waiting for them.

"That was unexpected," Jim murmurs, fingers massaging into the back of Spock's neck. "You miss me - is that it? Is this going to happen every time I come back?" Spock attempts to disentangle himself from Jim - pulling his hands back, trying to step away - but Jim gives a little tug at the back of Spock's neck, and Spock grapples at him again, hands fisted tight in Jim's uniform at his sides. "…Spock."

"You were out of this star system for seven months," Spock says, as if Jim didn't know. "Your absence was - noticeable, among all of us."

"Not like this."

"They do not know you as I do."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." (Though not completely right, not with what he and Bones have been doing.) He rests his forehead against Spock's; not only does it give Spock a little comfort, a small apology that Jim has to be out there to do what he loves, but it lets Jim gauge how much discontent Spock has left. The residual buzz still itches against his own thoughts. "What else? Talk to me."

"You take Nyota with you when you leave."

"If she wants to sign up and be part of my crew, that's her decision. If you miss us so much," Jim pulls back so he can look Spock in the eye and ensure he knows this isn't a joke, like the first time he said it, "you should join us. You know the ship, too. It'd be fun."

Spock pauses, like he always does, thinks for one beat, and two, then - "I have my place, Jim."

Jim sighs again. "Spock, if you'd just - "

"The company will not organize itself, even under Christopher's leadership, and there would be no reason for you to be in space if the company is in disarray here. I told you to accept this, once."

"That would be accepting defeat."

"From only one perspective. This arrangement has allowed you to find that Doctor McCoy, yes?" 

"I found Bones years ago in the Academy, and nothing could stop me from having you both on my ship. C'mon, Spock, you'd have Uhura, and me, and I saw the way you were looking at Bones--"

"No." Spock's voice that reminds him a little of Chris - until Spock's thigh presses up between his legs and Spock pulls him close so they press together inch-for-inch from the neck down. "All I want is this, Jim."

He's lying and Jim yearns to force the truth out of him, but he wants an entire evening to do it - no distractions, not with all those people out there waiting for them, not with jobs waiting to be done tomorrow or sooner. 

"Fine." Jim kisses him, trails kisses from Spock's lips, along his jaw, to his neck (where he wants to bite but can't). "This is all you'll get."

 

\---

 

Moscow reminds Spock of San Francisco in many ways, in the way it's dark and grey, but the air smells different. There's less salt and more pine. And too much snow.

The lecture is set in an old hall with wooden, stadium seating; the only modern touches about it are the large touch screens the professor writes on. From the back of the hall where Spock sits, he can see Chekov at the front, his stylus tapping slowly on the side of his PADD.

Spock waits until the lecture ends before he starts to step through the wave of students down to hall floor. He taps Chekov's shoulder along the way, but says nothing, only gets him to look up before slipping a note into his pocket.

"Professor Kryukov," Spock says, stepping in front of the table where he is packing his book bag. "May I have a word?" 

The man looks up, appraises Spock in one look, and then goes back to packing his bag. "What about?"

"I represent a man who would be willing to support your research into dark-field telemetry if you would give us a small favor."

"Yes?" Kryukov motions Spock to follow him through the back door and into the faculty tunnel. Spock follows, keeping his hands neatly behind his back. "What is this favor?"

"We ask that you release Pavel Chekov from your research group, without impunity, and discharge all of his debts."

Kryukov stops dead and turns to face Spock. "Are you another one of those aliens trying to steal my little genius?"

"Sir - "

"The Vulcans want him now? Not a chance. You can tell your green-blooded masters that they will need more than research money to take him from my group!"

He stalks away, and Spock watches without a word.

 

Spock meditates in his hotel room. His comm chirps. He meditates a further five minutes until he reaches over to check the message. Kryukov.

Dinner at 1900? My driver will come pick you up.

 

Kryukov's home is more manor than humble abode, set on the shores of a lake outside of Moscow. A black sedan finds Spock at his hotel and travels up a white concrete driveway to deliver him onto marble steps, where Krykov waits to greet him with open arms.

"Spock." Kryukov gives him a greeting hug that Spock politely returns. "Why did you not say you worked for Pike?"

"His name should have no bearing on the rationality of arguments that I make."

Kryukov laughs. "Of course, of course," he says while he leads him inside the house. Spock has seen opulence and gaudy house decorations before, so nothing surprises him, until Kryukov brings him out onto the back balcony.

The scaly, winged creature lashed about within the wide confines of its forcfield dome, a hundred yards downhill of the house. As it stalked back and forth it dug long claws into the dark earth and whipped its tail to-and-fro, restless like any hungry predator. 

"Isn't he beautiful?" Kryukov asked, beaming as the dragon took to the sky with a powerful beat of its wings. Spock nodded once in agreement; he did think it had its own reptilian beauty, something concerning its lithe strength and the brilliant shine of its blue scales.

But watching it scorch its cattle dinner alive in a blaze of white fire tempted other thoughts: that this beauty was not this man's to have, and not on Earth. 

"Does it sleep?" Spock asked.

"Yes, she does, when I need her to." Kryukov gestured to building of dark steel adjacent to the dome, windowless, surrounded by a wide field of gravel. "I will not have anyone stealing my beautiful sapphire." 

He gave Spock a telling look, which Spock returned with unwavering calm. "Of course not."

 

Spock waits outside of the villa, cleaning his hands of black blood, while the sun rises over the Senezh lake. The air warms, the birds begin to sing, louder and louder, until he hears a wretched scream from the bedroom above him.

Satisfied, he walks to the car waiting for him at the end of the driveway. The dragon had been difficult to subdue and even tougher to dismember, but Spock had managed.  
\---

"The flight wasn't too long, was it? I hope you're not too tired, Spock." Christopher says from the armchair across the coffee table. Spock takes out a PADD from his bag, comforted by the concern, not that he would hint at his fatigue while he was working. 

"I slept on the shuttle," Spock says.

"But you still have the notes all done," Sam teases from his own arm chair, lounging back with a drink in hand. Spock still isn't quite used to Sam being privy to all the business details he shares with Christopher, even if Sam has been involved for several years now. In his opinion, Sam doesn't give these meetings their proper weight, least of all when he's drinking. 

"Of course." Spock raises an eyebrow. "You expect something less of me?"

"What I don't expect--"

"Gentlemen," Christopher nips that argument in the bud. Spock shifts his attention back to his PADD.

"Apologies, Christopher." He sees a faint smile on Christopher's lips; he's forgiven. "The information concerning Harrison is unreliable at best. Supposedly he originates from the British Isles and specializes in advanced weaponry, but the actual location and nature of his education is unknown. 

"He is most notorious for the remote-detonated chemical weapons used in a handful of systems beyond the reach of the Federation, but now his focus appears to be on entering the mainstream defense market. At the moment he has earned support from Mendez, but without us among his connections he will never achieve an appreciable market share. According to latest reports, Mendez's core business still remains in civilian leisure transport, which only require minimal convoy protection."

Christopher sits back, rubbing his jaw with his thumb. "What do you think, Spock?"

"I believe it would be prudent to accept his offer." Christopher doesn't say anything at first, even though Spock wants him to point out Spock's obvious bias. His mother's death, a civilian hostage disaster, still stands fresh in his memory. 

Unwilling to linger on that, Spock continues. "We may have the economic and and inventory advantage over the other companies now due to the size of our fleet; if he brings it to another company, that could destabilize our contracts perhaps not now, but ten years into the future. Perceptions among the business community could shift such that we are less capable of protecting our clients and Federation shipments - which in the current political climate is the majority of our business, obviously."

Sam leans forward in his seat, both hands curled around his glass as he watches Christopher. "So what'll it be, Chris?"

Christopher looks between them, then his hand drops to rest on the arm rest. "I'll sleep on it. When are we leaving tomorrow, Spock? Eight-thirty?"

"Yes."

"Good, I'll meet you both then."

They rise from their seats, then Sam adds, "Oh, Chris - Jim asked me if he could come to the meeting this time." 

"No." It's the same answer Christopher has given ever since Jim started at the Academy. (The previous answer being, 'No, you're too young.')

"What am I going to tell him this time?" Sam asks, teasing.

"Tell that this is his break, and if he works here, he can't work on his ship."  
\---

The morning light fills the conference room, reflecting off of the glass and steel of the San Francisco skyline. Spock sits with his back to the city to avoid being blinded, even with the polarized glass.

When Harrison steps in, dressed in an ironed dark suit and his dark hair cut neat and short, he casts a cursory glance over those already assembled - Pike, Spock, Sam, Number One - and then takes a seat at one of the two empty chairs of the table, across from Christopher.

"Good morning," Pike says to him with a pleasant, professional smile. Spock has seen enough of them to know that Pike has reserved his minimum amount of good will for this proposal, and that doesn't bode well for the rest of the meeting.

"Good morning." Harrison takes out a handful of holo disks from his briefcase and arranges them on the table in front of them. "Thank you for arranging the time to meet me.

"I need a man with connections," Harrison continued. "I need a ship that can afford to be modified. Captain Pike, I need access to that wonderful fleet you have to show Earth how safe their shipping lanes can really be."

Pike keeps his smile. Spock keeps his hands folded in front of him to avoid fidgeting. The show and the words are unnecessary, he knows; Pike has already made his decision. 

"And what does my fleet get for all of this?" Pike asks.

"The best weaponry that this galaxy has seen." Harrison smiles. He taps the holo disks one by one, displaying a torpedo, a pair of sleek nacelles, and a starship equipped with two massive pincers below its disk. "The pirates will never pick off one of your ships again, so you won't have to rely on contractors for the outer systems…that would be another three, four hundred million credits for the yearly earnings. Twenty percent of which would be to my engineers, as a partner of your fleet."

Surprisingly, Harrison doesn't glance at Sam, who tenses at the end of the table, or Spock, who tries not to remember his mother's death. He keeps his gaze coolly focused on Pike - who has also lost his share of people to space and its dangers.

"That's quite a promise," Pike says, leaning back in his seat. "What's to stop these weapons from being stolen?"

"I wouldn't share these weapons with any man who happens to have a ship."

"Then what have you given Mendez?" 

Harrison seems to pause in his show, and he briefly tips his head in Spock's direction. "My compliments, Mr. Spock." Spock returns his nod. "As you likely know, Mendez helped me refine my technology and climb out of obscurity on the colonies, but he only needs enough to protect his pleasure cruisers and casino ships. I'll compensate Mendez out of my own share. Don't worry about him, Captain, these are built for the Neutral Zone."

"Is that so?" Pike draws his thumb against the edge of his jaw, a show of ponderance. "Mr. Harrison, I'll admit that these weapons look…amazing. Well-designed. Powerful. However…I'll have to say no. We're starting to negotiate with the Klingons and the Romulans about trade through the Zone, and this isn't the time to start an arms race, or appear to start it.

"In a few years, maybe. Hopefully we won't need these weapons, if things go well. When we manage to stabilize relations with our neighbors, maybe, but right now I'd like to keep the subspace channels calm."

"If you're concerned about the secrecy of your projects, I can guarantee that neither the Klingons, nor the Romulans will hear a word of it."

"Wait." Sam leans forward in his seat, one hand open for emphasis in front of him. "You're saying you can pry open our ships and keep every single person from talking about it - "

"Sam." 

Spock stares at his hands as Sam goes silent, and the chair creaks as Sam sits back, hard.

"I value what the next generation can give us," Pike continues, "but sometimes they should listen instead of talk. Anyways, Mr. Harrison, when you have something more than weapons, I hope you'll work with us again. You have some real talent." Pike stands and offers his hand across the table. Harrison stands and accepts Pike's hand, shaking it firmly with a tight smile.

"Thank you."

Harrison takes his holos and his briefcase and leaves. Sam follows him out. Spock watches them both leave before standing.

"Spock." Pike sits at the edge of the table, his arms folded over his chest. "When you leave, send Scotty in. Tell him I'd like to talk about his next assignment."

 

\---

Several days pass. Spock stays with Nyota at her apartment in the city, appreciating the lull in work. In the afternoon, he walks into the city; there are many small shops nearby where he can peruse, and sometimes he finds trinkets he thinks Nyota might like.

Today, Spock steps out of the chocolatier to see Harrison standing on the sidewalk in front of a sleek black car, the door already open. 

"Harrison," Spock greets the man with a nod and starts to walk towards the main street. A man in an unmarked black uniform blocks his path; turning around, he sees another man standing beside Harrison, one hand reaching for something at his hip.

Harrison steps up to him, close enough to mutter in his ear, but keeps his hands to himself. "If I wanted to kill you, Spock, you would be dead. So let's not argue. Get in the car."

The man next to him takes his bag, and the other holds the door open.

 

\---

Jim and Bones stumble out of the movie theater, laughing. 

"What kind of shoot-out was that?" Jim says. He makes a gun out of his hands and makes a few shooting noises, just as pathetic as the scene they watched, and Leonard laughs so hard he has to clutch at Jim's shoulder to stay upright.

"Dammit, Jim," Bones wheezes, "that is the last time we're letting you pick the movie." 

"Just because it was a bad movie doesn't mean I had bad judgment. It had some nice-looking people and a sweet ship. That was worth it, right?"

"Some of us look for a little complexity in our dialogue, Jim. Actual words spoken between characters. Not just talking with phasers."

"That's not what you say when we're out in the lanes," Jim says with a little elbow to Bones' ribs. "I don't think there were too many words between me and those pirates that one time -" 

"Woah, Jim, wait." Bones grabs Jim's shoulder again and stops him dead in his tracks.

"Bones, what are you -"

"Look." Bones points up to the news crawling around one of the skyscrapers: CAPT. PIKE OF STARFLEET CORP SHOT IN DRIVE-BY NEAR PRESIDIO.

Jim's throat goes dry. He drops his comm on the ground - twice - before he can manage to fumble with the dial enough to call Sam. They both step off to the side of the walkway. Jim leans against the concrete wall of the storefront while Leonard grips at his shoulder, keeping him steady.

"Jim?" Sam's voice calls from the communicator.

"Yeah, Sam, it's - it's me." Jim's white-knuckled hand shakes around the communicator. "Is he--?"

"We don't know yet," Sam says. "He's in the hospital. Come over to the house, kid. We're worried about you." 

"Okay, I'll be there. Soon. Now. See you soon." Jim snaps the communicator shut and he sighs heavily, saggings against the wall. 

"Jim?" Bones leans in close; Jim can tell by the smell of his cologne even before he opens his eyes. "I can go with you to the house, drop you off - "

"No." Jim grabs at Bones' jacket and uses it to pull himself back onto his feet. He hesitates before letting go. "Can you stay? Until I hear if he's all right."

"You sure you want me to?"

"Yeah." Jim glances up to catch his gaze. "Absolutely."

 

\---

When they took the hood off his head (so barbaric), the light nearly triggers his inner eyelids. Tall, wide windows stretch across three walls, showing nothing but a dense forest of pine trees. They had sat him down in a wicker chair with a table in front of him, covered in linen tablecloth and set for afternoon tea. 

Harrison sits in front of him, pouring tea into two cups of fine white china. "Milk, sugar?" he asks. The entire arrangement reminds Spock of afternoons with his mother on Vulcan, when she would give him a time to calm down after a round of day classes. The recollection hurts.

Spock stares at him, his fingers curling on the arms of the chair. Harrison sets the pot down between them and waits. "…both, please," Spock finally says. He doesn't relax even when Harrison spoons sugar into his own cup, but he does take the saucer when it's offered to him.

A tall, muscular man - different face, same undefined uniform - comes to whisper something in Harrison's ear. The only word Spock catches is "Pike." A cold, sick feeling of knowing spreads in Spock's stomach. 

Then the man stepped out of the room, leaving Spock alone with Harrison. "That was about your captain." He stirs his tea with a small silver spoon, barely big enough to clasp between two of his strong fingers. "We shot him in the city just after you joined us. He's dead."

Spock sets the saucer back on the table and remembers to breathe. 

"I know you don't shoot without asking Pike's permission, so you shouldn't be concerned about leaving here alive." Harrison sips his tea leisurely, as if this were just an afternoon luncheon. "I need you to convince Mister Kirk to accept the deal he always wanted."

Spock looks down at his hands folded in front of him. "Now that you have killed Captain Pike, it is highly unlikely that Sam will do anything for your benefit."

"Ah, but I have faith in your abilities to convince him. I heard you could convince Pike if you had reason to - what is Sam, compared to him?" Harrison looks over the teacup at him with a glint in his eyes that suggests more of his words. Spock knows that it's meant to unsettle him - but this is not the first time someone has alluded to the rumours about his particular, exotic brand of persuasion. 

But it's almost too soon. Spock will never be able to persuade Christopher of anything again.

"I will try to reason with Sam, but I make no guarantees."

"I don't expect you to, but I'm not the one who has to manage a company in turmoil. Biscuit?" He motions to another plate off to the side with a spread of shortbread cookies. 

"No, thank you." Balancing the line between being curt and disrespectful itches at Spock's conscience - if only because that was the very thing Christopher had helped him so much with: being firm but not infuriating every human he worked with that didn't happen to be a scientist or a diplomat. By no means had he learned everything, just enough to be useful for the company, and now… "If we are done here, I would like a car back to the city."

"Of course." Harrison stands from the table, and Spock rises with him. While the sunroom was sparsely furnished but still decorative, the rest of the house is only filled with temporary tables and chairs, a haphazard collection of computers, and a portable medical bay, complete with a biobed. Spock suspects Harrison wants him to see all of this: it might be just a glimpse into his capabilities, or it might be all of them. He has no way of knowing.

When they step outside and onto the driveway, three cars are sitting idle and one comes up the drive to park among them. A woman steps out and rushes to Harrison to whisper something in his ear. Spock watches his expression harden, and then Harrison's eyes snap to him. He nearly takes a step back.

"He's still alive, your Captain," Harrison says. Spock doesn't have the time to feel relieved, not here. "Which is more unfortunate for you, I believe, because my offer still stands, yet that idiot protege of his is less likely to accept my offer."

"You are correct." Spock holds his ground as Harrison turns toward him, stepping nearer with the corner of his mouth curling up.

"But I'll be generous: the terms hold. Get him to do the smart thing, Spock, and don't test me."

 

\---

 

Jim walks into the living room, and Number One is the first to greet him, giving him a hug tighter than any she had given to him when he was young. "Phil called from the hospital," she says when she lets him breathe again. "He says Chris will survive." 

The relief makes him dizzy, but he manages to keep to his feet with a light smile. Across the coffee table from him, Uhura sits with her hand on her mouth. She looks at Jim and Bones and gives them a shaky smile, and then she looks past them towards the front door. 

"What's wrong?" Bones asks, moving around the table to sit next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Before she has the chance to answer, Jim knows: Sam paces the hallway while on his comm, Number One stands by the window, and there was a car missing from the driveway. "Where's Spock?"

Uhura shrugs lightly, in lieu of words, at first. "…Your brother says he's with Harrison, but we thought he'd be done by now…"

Jim sets his jaw and thinks for a moment with his hands on his hips. There's nothing they can do but wait - but they can't just sit and stare at each other, there's too much hanging in the air. 

"You two want something to drink? Cognac all right?" When they both give him a nod, Jim walks into the kitchen and fills three glasses, returning to place them on the coffee table. He sits on the love seat, nursing his glass, and tries not to think about who might die tonight. 

"Do you guys remember the Kobayashi Maru?" Jim asks, and when he sees Uhura's smile strengthen behind her hand Jim continues with the easy, entertaining recollection, complete with Bones rolling his eyes and countering the embellishments Jim slips in.

The stories make the cognac go down smoother, until Spock steps through the door. They all stand at his entrance, putting their glasses down on the coffee table. He doesn't seem too hurt: he holds his coat in one arm while his other hand hangs down by his side, his shirt's only wrinkled from a long day, and his hair is - almost immaculate.

Uhura rushes to him first, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. Spock embraces her with one arm, the one holding the coat, and murmurs quietly to her. Jim and Bones step up soon after.

"Are you okay?" Jim asks. Bones doesn't bother asking, just grabs for Spock's arm, and Spock jerks back.

"Doctor, I would appreciate if you did not touch my arm."

"Why?" Bones asks. "It wouldn't be broken, would it?"

Spock hesitates, and he looks at Uhura before he looks back at Bones. "The wrist." 

Sam walks up from the hallway, snapping his comm shut and stuffing it in his pocket. "You're back! C'mon, let's go, we've all gotta hear what Harrison wants."

"We're splinting this first," Bones says. "Take a seat, I've got a kit in my car."

"Woah, wait," Sam steps forward. "Splint for what - "

"Sam." Jim steps up to catch Sam's shoulder, dragging his brother's attention to himself. "Give us a minute."

Sam looks from Jim to Spock and back, and then shrugs off Jim's hand. "You've got five. We're meeting in my room."

 

\---

They avoid Christopher's study out of either fear or respect. Jim doesn't know which. Maybe both. 

Whatever the reason, they conduct their meeting in Sam's bedroom. Jim remembers when the walls were peppered with posters of gleaming chrome engines and beautiful alien women, but now the eggshell white paint shines between revolving pictures of Sam's family and crayon doodles from his son. 

Number One and Boyce sit on the edge of the queen bed, Sam and Spock occupy two corners of an old sofa pushed up under the window on the far wall, and Jim sits a little apart from them all, gently swiveling back and forth in the desk chair. Spock didn't want him to be here, but he hadn't put up much of an argument, so it was easy to muscle his way in. 

"Spock," Sam says as he pulls up his ankle under his knee, "you're the advisor here. If Chris dies - what do we do?"

Spock keeps his splinted wrist still on his thigh, but his other hand fidgets - clenching and unclenching by his side. He stares at a patch of the carpet next to Jim. "If he dies, half of our shipping agreements are in immediate jeopardy. We lose our contacts on the Federation Council. If we seek retaliation, the other corporations may unite against us in order to avoid any prolonged market destabilization. Together, they may have enough ships to fill the vacuum…regardless, we do not have the resources to both recover our route losses and to fend off the other corporations. 

"If Christopher dies - " Spock looks up, first catching Jim's gaze and then looking over to Sam. "Then you agree to Harrison's terms."

"Easy for you to say, Spock, Chris isn't your dad."

"He is not yours, either."

"You know what I mean!"

"And you know that I owe Christopher just as much as you or Jim."

Someone knocks at the door. Boyce stands to open it. McKenna, Chris' driver, pops his head in. He sniffled. "There's a package out front."

Sam turns in his seat. "What the fuck do you mean, a package?"

"A package." McKenna pauses to cough into his hankerchief. "It's for you." 

Sam rubs at his jaw, then gestures at Boyce. "Can you go get it? McKenna, there's some hypos in the kitchen, bottom shelf, you know? Might want to take one."

"I'll be fine, thanks," he wheezes, and shuffles out with Boyce, who shuts the door behind him.

"Lungworm my ass," Sam mutters. He looks at Number One. "You take care of him, all right? I don't want to see him anymore."

Number One gives him a nod.

Sam and Spock start talking logistics about keeping Chris safe at the hospital, and after a few minutes of that Boyce returns with a brown paper bag and hands it to Sam. After a moment of peeking inside of it, Sam dumps the contents out onto the sofa cushion beside him, between him and Spock.

Jim hears the contents roll against each other before he sees them: white orange hunks of crystal with sharp corners and dark patches, slightly bigger than a man's fist. "What the hell are these?" 

"Dilithium crystals," Jim and Spock answer simultaneously. They look at each other for a moment, but Spock tips his head, letting Jim take the floor first. "They're partially spent - you can see from the dark areas - which means they've been in a starship, like…the Enterprise." 

Jim whips out his comm and calls Scotty as he rolls to his feet. As he rushes out of Sam's bedroom, he hears Sam's last question, "Yeah, but what does it mean…" Jim's sure that Spock will have an answer for Sam, but Jim doesn't get to hear it. 

He stands on the patio when Scotty finally picks up. "Captain - "

"Scotty, tell me she's all right."

Scotty lets out a breath in frustration. "Jim, I don't know what you've heard - "

"Just tell me!"

"Aye, well…she's still at port, but her…her core is ruined, Jim." 

Jim tries to sit on one of the patio couches but misses completely; he collapses to his knees on the tile next to it. "How bad?"

"We've got to replace the whole system. We're in port so we can order a new one straight from Mars, but it's gonna take nine months, maybe a year." 

"A year?" Jim swallows hard, tries to pull up the steady focus that he wears when he's captain on the bridge of his ship. "…You do whatever you have to, Scotty. Keep me in touch."

Jim snaps his comm shut and takes a deep breath, steadying himself. Slowly, he levers himself against the sofa to get to his feet, but it still feels like he's been punched in the gut and another one of his family's been shot. 

He steps back into the living room where Uhura and Bones are sitting, talking quietly. They turn their attention to him, and Jim sees the open worry on their faces.

"The Enterprise." Jim's voice cracks. "They wrecked her core." 

Uhura beckons him to sit on the couch. She moves over to let him sit between them. She rubs his arm gently. "I'm sorry, Jim."

"You gonna be okay?" Bones asks.

Jim leans his head back against the sofa back, closing his eyes. "Yeah…just give me a minute."

 

\---

Boyce sits on to the passenger side of the sedan and slams the door shut. "If Sam wants a war, we're going to be prepared for it." He pulls out an old-fashioned piece of paper from his pocket, checks it once, and then folds it away again. "Mattresses first. There's a wholesaler up the coast. I'll tell you when we get there."

"Right." McKenna shifts gears, ready to go airborne, and then glances up into his rearview mirror. "Sulu, sit on the other side. You're blocking my view."

Sulu slides over to the other seat.

 

They drive as far north as Eureka and as far south as Santa Cruz, tapping businesses along the way for their support and tipping up into the low atmosphere to skip the trees. On the way up from Santa Cruz they stopped by a little fishing town to grab some crab - specially requested by Number One - and now a little cooler sits on the middle seat between Boyce and McKenna.

"Pull over." Boyce says as they start to skim across the top of the trees towards the city.

"What?"

"Pull over. Even doctors need to go to the bathroom."

The car descends down to the old guiding rode, shaded by the tall pines that loom over the cracked asphalt. Boyce gets out as McKenna kills the engine. He walks down the road a few yards until he finds a private piece of vegetation, unzips his fly, and listens.

The power-up of a phaser starts, low and deep in the quiet of the forest, until the discharge rings out against the mountain wall. Boyce finishes up and turns back to the car, where Sulu stands next to the driver side door with the phaser in his gloved hand.

"Leave the phaser." Boyce orders. "Take the crab."

Sulu tosses the phaser onto the empty seat and reaches in to pluck the cooler from the car. A black sedan coasts over them, then descends to land further up the road. 

 

\---

Bones takes him out to dinner under the guise of "mental health" - he needs to get out of the ranch, he needs some time to himself, he needs some good food. And while Bones doesn't say it, Jim knows: they need some time for themselves, too.

But he still intends to visit Chris at the hospital after dinner.

"Let me come with you, Jim," Bones says to him when they're standing outside the restaurant, the signs up and down the street lighting up the night. He has this crease in his brow and worry in his eyes; it's not quite puppy-dog eyes but it makes Jim sigh and relent.

"Okay. Come on, let's grab the train."

 

The clock at the front of the hospital says it's just past 22:00, so Jim expects the place to be quiet.

He doesn't expect it to be empty. 

There's no receptionist. No nurses in the halls. Not even a robot scooting along to clean the linoleum floors. 

"I don't like this," Bones growls as they step into one of the elevators. Jim looks at him but says nothing. He doesn't like it, either. 

The elevator stops on Chris's floor. They step out onto a long, empty corridor with doors on either side. "There should be guards here," Jim says under his breath as he walks quickly towards Chris's room. Bones trails after him. "Where the fuck are they?"

He stops in front of Chris's door and pauses, listening for any sounds behind the door. Then, carefully, he reaches out and activates the switch. The door swishes quietly to the side. The first thing Jim sees is the wide window on the opposite wall, letting the bright lights from the city wash into the dark room. He hopes that window is blast-proof.

Stepping in, Jim sees Chris lying on the biobed to his left, the monitors cycling through body statistics and thrumming softly with the beat of Chris's heart. He doesn't stir. Jim hopes that he's only asleep. He walks over to flank one side of Chris's bed while Bones walks to the other, checking the monitors before checking Chris himself, placing two fingers at his neck. If Jim was in a better mood, if this didn't look like a pay-off and a set-up, he'd joke about Bones' old-fashioned techniques, but Jim knows all too well how to make sensors and machines say what you want them to say.

"Probably just sleeping," Bones says when he pulls his hand back. Jim looks from Bones, to Chris, to the door, then walks around the bed. He checks the window to see the view, the height, and the open airspace. "What do you want to do, Jim?"

"We need to move him somewhere else." Jim glances down to the scenic garden five stories down, then out towards the city. He can see the Marcus HQ from here, tucked next to the Tellarite embassy. "Somewhere inside, without windows. Could you--" He looks over to see Bones already turning off the monitors. Jim allows himself a small smile. "They'll know you're turning those off, right?"

"Who's they?" Bones asks with his own little smirk. "I didn't see anyone when we came in here. Did you?" He has a point.

When the sensors are off and the biobed has whatever it needs - a little tank of portable oxygen on the side, little plastic bags of electrolytes and medical cocktails - they wheel the biobed out into the hall. As they roll closer to the elevator, plans and back-up plans and what-ifs race through his thoughts. There are so many variables he doesn't know that even when he hits the switch for the first floor, Jim can't be sure that this is the best idea, but it's the best one he's got.

As they turn the corner they see a lanky young man coming down the hallway, and while they try to pass him without a word, the moment he sees Chris in the bed he stops and asks, "Oh, is that Captain Pike?"

Jim doesn't stop. "Keep walking."

"Is he in danger?" The kid continues to nag, stepping into pace by his side. "I can help!"

Jim shares a look with Bones before he looks directly at the kid, making him shrink back in the process. "What's your name? Why do you want to help?"

The sharp tone seems to snap the kid to attention. "Chekov, Pavel Andreivich, sir," he says, the vowels tumbling out of his mouth. "The Captain helped me - ah - move away from Moscow, sir, I haven't had the chance to thank him." 

This is what Spock picked up in Moscow? Jim pushes aside the questions that he wants to ask and the beginnings of what he wants to say to Spock, and while he has Pavel's attention he gestures to the elevator up ahead. "Run ahead and hold the elevator for us. Make sure it doesn't come up with anyone armed."

Pavel's eyes are wide with curiosity and fear, but he nods and runs off without a word. 

Bones glances over his shoulder as Chekov sprints down the corridor before he looks back at Jim. "Do you think…"

"We don't have a choice," Jim says, glancing down at Chris, who continues to sleep. "Might as well recruit him while we've got the chance."

They move Chris in silence down to the bottom floor and into the intensive care unit holed up in the center of the building, sending Pavel to scout ahead with each corner. Bones' ID gets them into the unit and his glare silences any questions from the nurses. When they finally get a private room in the back and the door clicks shut, Jim takes a deep breath to ease his nerves. Bones slumps down into one of the chairs. Chekov bounces on his heels by the door.

Jim leans back against the wall with a sigh, then takes out his comm and calls the house. Sam picks up. "Jim?"

"Sam, I'm at the hospital with Bones and…Mr. Chekov." He glances over to see Pavel bounce a little higher. "You had men stationed here, right?"

"Yeah, why? Is something - "

"They're gone." 

"Fuck."

"And they put Chris in a fucking green room, so we moved him down to the ICU." 

"Jim, you just stay there. I'm sending Spock over with some men. Don't panic."

"I'm not panicking." Jim hisses back and he snaps the comm shut. He grips the device tight in his hand for a moment before shoving it back into his pocket. He looks at Bones, then Chekov, and they look back at him.

"Okay," Jim pushes himself off the wall and back to his feet. "Bones, stay here with him. Check his vitals and make sure nobody else comes in here. Chekov, come with me." He walks out of the room and Chekov falls a half pace behind him. 

They pass the still-empty reception desk and out onto the entrance, a wide sandstone path that leads to the drop-off and is sidelined by two wide, green lawns. The cold air sinks into his lungs. Chekov shivers, but says nothing. The doors shut behind them. 

"Look," he says as he turns to Chekov and places his hands on his shoulders. "We're going to make sure nobody comes through here to get the ICU, got it? But you're not going to scare anyone looking like…this." Jim looks down at Chekov's coat, and after a moment of thought unzips it and pops the collar against Chekov's neck. "Keep your hand here," he says as he lifts Chekov's hand to his breast bone underneath the coat, "like you're carrying a phaser."

Chekov blinks at him but keeps his hand under his coat, just like he has something holstered at his shoulder. Satisfied, Jim turns back to face the roundabout, his hands fisted in his own pockets. He says nothing to Chekov as he stares out into the distance, tensing up at every set of bright headlights that passes on the road. 

What is taking Spock so long?

A black sedan drives up and slows down through the roundabout. The windows are completely polarized, but briefly lamplight filters from the other side and Jim sees four heads behind the windows. Is this it? Are these the assassins sent to finish Chris off? 

Chekov's breath hitches. Jim shifts his fist in his pocket as if he's about to pull a phaser out. 

The sedan speeds out into the street and disappears. Jim takes a breath. 

Chekov leaves his side to take a seat on one of the side benches and braces his hands against his thighs. Jim walks over when he sees the tremor in Chekov's hands, and he pats the young man's shoulder. "You did good." 

"Will there be another…car?" Chekov asks, gesturing at the road in broad circles.

"Maybe. I don't know." A cluster of headlights rush up the road now and Jim steadies himself for a fight, but multi-colored strobes top these cars and a high-pitched siren cuts through the evening air. Not local colours. Jim's only seen this pattern a handful of times, but enough times to know that this is the planet-wide squad, tasked with Earth's defenses. No amount of bluffing will stop them if they intend to use force.

"Chekov," he says without looking at the kid, "Go back inside, tell Bones what you've seen."

Jim turns his attention back to the cars pulling up onto the curb; Chekov sprints back into the lobby, his footsteps a fading tap-tap-tap against the linoleum. More than a dozen uniformed officers step out of their vehicles, but they all fall back to flank a woman with black hair pulled back into a tight bun. She already has her phaser in her hand. 

"What is your purpose here? You're disrupting the normal operation of this hospital," she barks at him.

Jim holds his ground. "Says the one who showed up with six cars and one hell of a siren."

She stops in front of him and the rest of her entourage folds around her and Jim, cutting off any means of escape. "I took all twenty-five of your men out of this hospital this evening, Mr. Kirk, there's nothing stopping me from doing the same to you."

"Oh, so what'll it be?" Jim gives her his most annoying, arrogant smile, the one that Spock has almost punched him for. "Dinner and a movie? Your place or mine?"

"Arrest him!" The ranks close in around him, and Jim doesn't resist. They wrench his arms behind him and Jim rolls his shoulders just enough to make it tough to get the cuffs on. They're so eager to arrest him that they keep missing.

"How much is Harrison paying you?" Jim asks trying to step forward as hands press back at his shoulders and his stomach and pull back on his arms. "How much did he want for making sure he could kill Captain Pike?"

Jim sees her lift her phaser-holding hand. He doesn't feel the metal against his cheek, but he feels the crack of the impact, the world twisting him off his feet, the sharp blinding pain in his cheek. There are so many hands on him, some pulling him up and some pulling him down, and all the sensation gets lost behind the bright white light in his eyes. 

More voices echo in his ears as he tries to get his bearings, some almost familiar, until - "Chief Zhu. Release Mr. Kirk." 

"Do you want to see my jail again, Mr. Spock?"

"You have no cause and I have enough witnesses to counter yours. Here is the warrant, in networked paper, that legally permits my men to protect Christopher Pike in this institution."

"You had a judge sign this, at this hour?" she scoffs. 

"You are an international organization," Spock says, and even in Jim's state he can hear the smugness percolate through his voice. "Therefore I am allowed to use international judges." 

Hands start to leave his body, the cuffs pull away, but Jim's still dazed: he sways this side, and the other, and nearly stumbles off his feet again when a hand catches his upper arm and rights him. He knows that warmth, so he tries to pull his gaze up from the pavement to meet Spock's gaze.

"Are you all right?" Spock asks.

"Maybe," he says, but the pain worsens when he opens his mouth to speak. "…no. Pro'ly not." Jim has been in a lot of fights and been hit in the face plenty of times, but this hurts. 

Spock's hand tightens on his arm. "Walk with me to the car," Spock says softly as a rush of footstep sweep past them in both directions -- into the hospital and away from it. Jim walks, raising his other hand to gingerly touch his jaw. He only has to brush the bone twice before he decides this is a Really Bad Idea.

"I need Bones," he says just as they get to the car. It hurts to talk but Bones has to be here. Spock says nothing and helps him sit in the backseat and stands there in the open door, half-turned towards the hospital. Jim leans his head back with a hiss of breath. "Spock, 'm serious, think this is broken--"

"They're retrieving him." Spock says, a little too quickly. "Exercise your patience."

Jim doesn't say anymore and Spock stands there in silence until Bones jogs out of the hospital and to the car. Spock directs him to get into the backseat from the other door, then shuts Jim's door and gets into the driver seat. Before the car even starts moving, Bones starts waving a tricorder over Jim's face, frowning down at the reader in his hand. 

"Good god, man, what did you say?"

 

\---

"Swing by my place, take a left here," Bones orders from the back seat of the sedan. Jim sees Spock glance into his rear view mirror. "I've got a osteogen at my place, unless you want to go back to the hospital, or, I don't know, leave Jim with this broken jaw here."

Spock takes the left.

 

Bones holds the box in his lap while they drive up into the hills towards the ranch, the city lights falling away behind them. Jim, feeling sleepy, asks: "Why don't you just put it on now?"

"Because the only thing this device is good for is a nice partial fracture like the one you've got," Bones says. "But I put this on and Spock hits the brakes, you're going to have your jaw bone sticking out of your cheek. Then we can't do shit until Spock drives us down to Stanford."

When they get back to the ranch, Spock's headlights illuminate the half-dozen or so cars that are always perpetually parked in the driveway, black and unmarked. Bones gets out and moves around the car, getting to Jim's side just as Spock pops open the door.

They both grab one of his arms as he pulls himself out of the car, but he shrugs off their grips when he stands. "I can walk," he mumbles, "it's my face." 

"And if you keep moving it I'm going to wire that jaw shut, medieval style," Bones snaps as he grabs Jim's arm again, this time above the elbow, and pulls him into the house. Spock trails behind them. 

Sam meets them in the hallway. "What the fuck - " Bones ignores him, steering Jim towards the bedrooms and leaving Spock to deal with Sam (and Number One, who comes in from the living room).

When they enter Jim's room and Bones lets go of his arm, Jim drags his feet to his bed and sits on the side with a heavy sigh. After spending so much time in the city and on his own ship, looking around this room, covered with the vestiges of adolescence, brings a strange sense of nostalgia that he's not entirely comfortable with.

Jim shifts to lie back on the bed. Bones snorts as he calibrates a long box of a device in his hand. The box sits with its open folds on Jim's old desk, next to a recycled brass model of the Kelvin. 

"You keep playing the hero here," Bones says softly, "we're never going to get out of this mess." 

"They were going to kill him, Bones."

"What about you? Have you thought that maybe they wanted to kill you, too?" Bones walks over and sits heavily on the side of the bed, and brings the device up to Jim's right shoulder. For a moment he frowns, looking at the arrangement, and then he grabs a book from Jim's shelves and props it underneath the device. "Make sure that doesn't move."

Jim makes a noise of agreement. He looks at Bones, who stares back, and then he looks up at the ceiling, still painted with a jumble of equations that show no rhyme or reason. They look simple, now, compared to everything around him.

"…they're always going to want to kill me, Bones." His hands rest over his stomach, and he scratches idly at his thumbnail. "Me, Sam, Chris…Mom, even." His jaw starts to sting. Jim squeezes his eyes shut. "Comes with the territory. Comes with the ship."

"But you haven't done anything, Jim."

"Doesn't matter. I've got the best ship we've ever built. Green-eyed monster and all that…"

"I hope you are not being prejudiced against any extraterrestrial species, Jim." He opens his eyes to see Spock step in from the hallway. In one hand he carries a glass clinking with ice cubes and a brown liquid.

"That for me?" Jim asks.

"No." Spock holds the glass to Bones, who takes it with raised eyebrows. "Bourbon with ice."

"…Thanks." Bones accepts it with a wary glance, and takes a sip as Spock sits in the desk chair, facing both of them.

"Approximately when will Jim's jaw heal?"

Bones shrugs and lowers the glass to rest on his thigh. "Couple hours. Whatever hit him had some mass to it. Why? You want to send him out again?"

"Do I need to justify my concerns?"

"If he has to go out into that mess again, you bet - "

Jim makes a sound in his throat as he reaches out to touch Bones' arm. It's good foreplay, Jim would agree, but he's not in the mood to watch it tonight, not when he can't laugh without knocking over the osteogen. 

"Spock," Sam pops his head into the room. (Is this going to turn into some sort of party?) "Your girl's here." 

Spock stands. "Nyota?"

"Yeah, you want me to send her in or - ?"

"No," Spock spares a glance to both Bones and Jim. "I'll meet her myself." 

"All right." When Spock brushes past him on his way out, Sam shifts his attention to Jim. "Hey, Jim, when you're all done with your face - we were going to have a talk about Harrison and Zhu, your new favorite sparring buddy. Next time, block it, okay?"

"Fuck off." 

"Just a little advice." Sam laughs and leaves with a small wave. Jim sees Bone smiling into his glass. He feels outnumbered.

"Oh my god, Jim," Uhura rushes into the room and leaves Spock to linger protectively in the doorway. "I thought we said no more fights? No more fights we can't win?" 

"Uhura, you're revealing my secret past time," Jim mock-whines, "to the very people that don't need to know my secrets."

"Like they don't know." She smiles and takes the seat by the desk, her arm braced up on the back. Spock comes to her side and slides his hand to rest on her shoulder. 

For a moment Jim feels pleased with himself: he made that happen, managed to get them into the same room together, and now they fit better than a warp core and its cooling jacket. He's given something (someone) to Uhura as thanks for joining him out in the black. He's given Spock someone else to think about.

His jaw stings again, tighter, like a vice is squeezing it together, and he shuts his eyes. "Are you all staying the night?" he mumbles.

Jim hears the clink of the ice in Bones' glass. "I don't see any of us leaving."

 

During the breakfast the house feels full: Boyce drops by with an update on Chris but doesn't stay, Number One arrives just as Bones starts to make waffles for everyone, and Aurelan, Sam's wife, drives up when the waffles are all ready. Sam's son, Peter, is five and very talkative, and his never ending conversation about dinosaurs distracts everyone for a little bit. But while everyone crowds into the kitchen to eat, Jim resigns himself to a bowl of oatmeal. The osteogen left his jaw tender.

 

"Let me take a look at you," Sam says as everyone files into the study and finds a seat. He puts his hands on Jim's shoulders to keep him from escaping and takes a good look at the big purple bruise spread across Jim's right jaw, from his chin almost to his earlobe. Jim stares hard at the couch to his left.

"Gorgeous," he says, patting Jim on the shoulder. "It's gonna look even better in a few days, guarantee you that."

"You want one?"

"Think I'll pass." Sam grins and steps back. Jim settles into a leather armchair by the window, and looks at the study, every seat full. Number One sits on one couch, while Uhura and Bones sit on the other, watching the company embodied at the front of the room.

Sam turns towards Spock, who stands by the desk with Chris's monitor turned to the side, tapping through messages and maps. "We got a note from Mendez this morning - "

"After you destroyed his port in Hong Kong."

"They'll rebuild."

"I am sure they will say the same thing about his son's leg." Spock glances up from the monitor.

"Cancels what they did to Chris. They make great femurs these days, y'know? Marrow and all." Sam shrugs and sits on the edge of the desk. He folds his arms over his chest. "So Mendez called and he said Harrison wants to talk. And they want us to send Jim."

Spock swings the monitor around and folds his hands behind his back. "We should listen to their proposition."

"What? No! Give them one message, Spock: I want Harrison, or else I'll close every fucking shipping lane from here to Deneva, screw their profits."

"The other corporations will not tolerate - "

"Then they can give me Harrison!"

"You are confusing the realms of business tactics with personal vendettas, Sam."

"They shot Pike!"

"Even such a drastic act was taken with the mindset of financial and political gain - not to attack you personally."

"Fuck their politics. Do me a favor, Spock, and help me win." Sam sinks down into the chair behind the desk.

Spock looks at Jim, and they share that look for a long moment before Spock moves around the desk and closer to Sam. Spock leans over, and when he places his hand on the desk a chill runs up Jim's spine. In all their years of knowing each other, Jim has only seen Spock really work a handful of times, and this will be one of those.

"International Chief Zhu has been working at the headquarters in Beijing for twenty years, and has been Chief for the last ten," Spock explains slowly. "She went to the same Academy that Chris, your mother, Jim, and myself have experienced. She knows our ships and our capabilities," Spock doesn't look away from Sam, even if Sam does. "And yet she has elected to support Harrison in this conflict. 

"What is imperative for you to understand, Sam, is that she is personally involved in his protection while he remains on this planet, which means he is virtually invincible. The company cannot sustain an armed conflict with Terran police and neither can we afford to simply assassinate a Chief of Police. All of the political influence we maintain both here, and among the Core planets, will not support an organization that eliminates upper echelon political figures for profit. The other corporations would gladly see us flounder into bankruptcy, and we would be forced to subsist on outer colonial, semi-annual shipments. So I implore you to take these details into consideration, and not allow your glands affect your judgment."

Sam stares back at Spock, his mouth in a thin line, then he looks away and slaps the edge of the table with his hand. "Fine, we'll wait."

Spock straightens up. An uneasy silence falls on the room. 

Jim shifts in his seat and scrubs a hand over his face. "We can't wait," he says. He looks up to see they're all watching him. The only gaze he meets is Spock's. "We can't. Chris is the key for Harrison's plan, getting these weapons into space…he won't stop until Chris is dead. Right, Spock?"

Spock gives him one slow nod. "He is persistent."

Sam slides out from his seat and steps to the front of the desk, perching on the edge again. "Okay, so we need him gone. Let me ask you this: what about this Zhu? It's Fed Police."

Jim licks his lips, thinking. "They want a meeting with me, right? With Harrison and Zhu. Take it, but tell them we want somewhere in the city with people around. Say it's for me. I can't carry a phaser into this thing, but if one of you could plant one at the meeting…I'll do it. I'll kill them."

The same uncomfortable silence rings in the room. Then Sam laughs, and Number One chuckles. Spock looks unamused as folds his hands behind his back.

"Jim, do you know what you're saying?" Sam says, pushing off the desk and walking over to him. "This isn't fucking deep space where you press a little button and hit them with a torpedo from fifty thousand kilometres. You gotta hold this fucking phaser right up where they can see you and boom!" His hand smacks against Jim's temple. "You burn a big damn hole through their head."

Sam tries to ruffle Jim's hair and laughs while Jim bats his hand away, and then spins in place. "Spock, doesn't he sound like he's taking this personally. This is business."

"What is actually keeping us from killing Zhu?" Jim asks.

Spock looks at him, his gaze softer than when he explained the situation to Sam. "Jim…"

"Spock, I'm serious." He leans forward in his seat, gesturing at Spock. "This is someone who is supposed to be protecting everyone on Earth, but she's siding with - with someone who's used chemical weapons and probably won't hesitate to use them again. Why don't we let the public figure out how to interpret this? The company has helped some journalists before, right?"

Jim looks to Uhura, who looks to Spock and then back to Jim. She nods. "…there's a few people I can talk to." 

The help makes Jim smile, and he leans back in his chair again. Spock's giving him a wary, curious look, just like when they first met, but Jim feels flush with the victory of a good plan well-thought.

"See," Jim says, "it's strictly business."

 

\---

He finds Number One down in the basement of the house, fiddling with a phaser on the work bench. She looks up when he steps off the stairs and offers him one her small, knowing smiles. "Jim. Are you ready for this meeting?"

Jim shrugs as he takes the empty stool at the bench. "I don't want to neutralize them."

"Neither do I."

"But I want to make sure they don't come after Chris again."

"And you think this will stop them?"

Jim looks up with a grim smile. He twists back and forth on the stool and looks at the phaser on the bench. "Spock asked me the same thing," he says. Number One lets him talk, continuing to tweak the phaser with a small silver tool. "Harrison's the only one forcing his firm to do this; if we get him, the rest will lay low. If we can get him away from his firm, and his guards, and Zhu, then…he can't hurt us anymore. If Zhu can't use her troops, she won't bother us."

"Remember that, Jim. Chris doesn't need your mercy now; he needs your good aim." Number One stands and shifts the phaser in her grip, leveling her arm with her shoulder at the target on the opposite wall. With a small smile, she lowers her hand and holds it out to Jim. 

"The handle is lined with a special polymer," she says as Jim weighs the phaser in his hand, "any DNA left on the grip will be destroyed when you release it."

"Because of the oyxgen?"

"Because of the heat from your hand." Number One gestures to the target on the other side of the room. Jim twists in his seat to face it. "Jim."

He laughs and gets to his feet, then steps out to the middle of the floor. As he levels his arm at the target, and for a moment he imagines Harrison standing there, facing him. Then Jim pulls the trigger. A red burst of light bursts against the wall and singes the white paint at the bull's-eye, less with a pew but a low hiss that cuts through space and time.

Jim stares at the mark, then the phaser in his hand. "It's too quiet."

"By design." Number One steps up beside him, leaning in briefly to look down his sightline at the target. "Someone is always listening, and the last thing you'll need is someone else becoming involved."

She takes the phaser from him and brings it back over to the bench, where she grabs a plain black holster and clips the phaser in. "Has Spock talked about where you'll go after this?"

"Yeah." Jim takes the holster when she offers it to him, but doesn't wrap it around his waist just yet. "Something about a triple-blind transfer to make sure no one knows where I'm going. Is he serious about the no contact thing? Because Bones--"

"We'll take care of Doctor McCoy." She starts to clean up the work bench, dropping tools into drawers and rubbing down the bench. "Focus on the mission, Jim." 

 

\---

Jim waits at the edge of the plaza until a black limousine descends out of the traffic stream and pulls up in front of him. The door pops open, and Harrison steps out, wearing a sleek black coat. "Mister Kirk," he says with a polite nod, but Jim can see the smirk on his face already. He wants to punch him right here.

"Let's get this over with."

"By all means." Harrison steps aside to let him climb into the car, then he follows Jim in and slams the door shut.

The only other person in the car is Zhu, who is dressed in her usual day-uniform as Terran police chief: black, comfortable, a few pins on the vest. The gold stripes on her sleeve remind Jim of his ship, and for a moment he longs for the simplicity of space.

He also sees the phaser strapped to her hip; she catches him looking at it and smiles. Jim smiles back. "It's good to see you again," he says in his Most Diplomatic Tone, the one he tries to smooth over wars with.

"Be quiet, Mr. Kirk." Her tone is cold steel, like Spock on the worst of his days, when he actually manages to be emotionless. "I have to check you for weapons. Don't move."

Zhu moves over to sit by Jim, and he obeys her words as he pats him down, pressing roughly under the folds of his coat and digging her hands into his sides, his elbow, his groin. Harrison watches from across the car, but doesn't say a word until Zhu pulls back. "He's clean."

"And minty fresh, I hope," Jim adds.

Harrison smiles. "I'd heard about your demeanor, Mr. Kirk, but I admit I wasn't prepared for just how naive you really are."

"You don't know who I am."

"Don't I?" Harrison lounges back, his arm outstretched across the bench seat. "Adopted son of Starfleet's patriarch, the fresh new captain of her best ship - I'm sure that was a nice birthday present, wasn't it?"

"I earned that ship and her crew."

"With the maneuvers near the Romulan Neutral Zone, yes, we've all watched those news vids. One wonders where we would be now if you had continued being a mechanic and not joined Starfleet…one can wonder." 

"Yeah, you can do that for me." Jim looks out the polarized window to see the city passing beneath them, with the occasional wall of glass and windows blocking the view. "We going to Oakland?"

Harrison tilts his head. "Maybe." Jim glances at Harrison, then Zhu, but his gaze returns to the window. The bay passes underneath them.

The limo banks sharply to the left, pushing Jim back into his seat, and then it dives. Harrison doesn't react, so neither does Jim, but his heart pounds hard in his chest as they get closer and closer to the water - until it pulls up, and Jim struggles to remain sitting up.

He can tell from the buildings that they're heading back into the city.

They wind through the streets, past quiet apartment buildings and around the backside of a large plaza before the limo stops, right in front of an old diner: GRELA'S. Jim recognizes the red-orange neon sign and the faint smell of fried meat wafting out from the open doors. Jim wonders if he'll ever be able to eat here again.

The three of them go in and sit at a booth against the window; Zhu pins him in and Harrison sits across from Jim. 

"How is your family handling all of these recent events, Jim?" Harrison asks them as a waiter stops by to give them all glasses of water.

"Am I supposed to think that you care?" Jim says, looking at Harrison with a flat stare. "Let's get to business."

"Be my guest."

"What I want, at the end of all of this, is for my family to be safe wherever they go in this city," Jim says with his finger tapping against the table. "I don't want any of them being targeted by you or your people anymore. I don't want anymore attempts on Chris' life."

"Do you think I can promise you that?" Harrison asks without the sarcasm this time. "I can't even talk to my people right now, Kirk; you're monitoring all of my communications, and if it were not for my friend here, I would have already been shot."

"We know you're still talking to them."

"To keep them from being picked off by the likes of you." Harrison pauses to take a sip of water. "Though, let us say that we both dismiss our guns and I agree to let Pike live his days in peace…will you have my weapons in your ships?"

"We don't need them."

"That's not what your brother thinks."

Jim sets his jaw. Harrison is right; Sam would want bigger weapons, not just for the fleet, but for their mom, out there on the boundary with the Klingons. Spock can't argue against Sam on this, because, deep-down, Spock probably agrees, after what happened to Amanda.

He looks aside and taps his fingers against the table. "I have to go to the bathroom." 

There's a pause as Harrison and Zhu look at each other, and then Zhu rises from her seat and lets Jim out of the booth.

"Don't take your time, Kirk," Harrison warns, and Jim almost tells him to fuck off before he walks off for the bathroom.

It's a small square of a room with two stalls and two sinks, harshly lit by white fluorescent bulbs. Jim picks one stall, crouches, and feels around the back of the bowl - nothing.

He straightens up, already thinking about what he can do if the phaser's not there (which is nothing), and then steps out of that stall and walks into the other.

Crouching again, feeling again - and this time his hand closes around cold metal. He rips the tape off the porcelain with a loud, long schtick, but he gets it off.

Looking at the phaser in his hand, Jim takes a deep breath, steadying his nerves. Two shots, that's all it would take, and these two would stop taking shots at his family. 

When he opens the stall door, Harrison stands across from him in front of the bathroom sink. 

They blink at each other for a moment, then Harrison lunges for him as Jim raises his phaser and fires. The shot hits Harrison squarely in the chest, and he falls in a heap on the tile floor.

Jim stands there, staring, barely breathing as he looks down at Harrison's body. But then his training takes over: he can't linger. Anything can happen. To confirm the kill, Jim kneels down and checks for a pulse.

It's still there.

"Fuck." He checks the setting on his phaser, but Number One didn't give him custom options: he's got stun and kill. Knowing Zhu will get suspicious with each second Jim stands here and panics, he decides to go for it. He walks out of the door back into the restraunt, phaser tight in his hand. 

Half-way to the booth Zhu looks up. Jim can see her eyes travel to the phaser in his hand, but he's quicker than her: he shoots, the burst of red light hits her square in the face, knocking her back against the glass window.

Everyone stops moving in the restaurant.

He walks over to touch Zhu's neck; there's no pulse. He casts a look over his shoulder to see the rest of the restaurant standing there, dumb struck, and then he walks outside with the phaser held low against his hip. 

Jim glances down the sidewalk one way, then another, and when he reaches the road a black sedan pulls up and stops dead. He sees Spock through the passenger window. When the door pops open, Jim climbs in without a look back.

Spock pulls the car up into traffic so quickly that Jim can't pull his seatbelt on, and they are both a little breathless when their car settles into the flow and they can breathe again. 

"Did you kill them?" Spock asks.

"Sort of." 

Spock gives him a side glance, then his brow furrows. "Explain."

"I--well, Harrison's in the bathroom, you should pick him up before someone else does."

"Did you not put the phaser on the correct setting?"

"I did! I swear. But it…didn't work as well as it did on Zhu." 

Spock takes a slow, even breath, then pulls out his comm and hands it to Jim. "Call Nyota and tell her this. Your shuttle leaves in twenty-five minutes, and your bag is in the trunk."

"Thanks."

"When we go over the bay, dismantle your phaser and discard it."

"You think of everything, don't you?"

"I try, Jim. You make it difficult."

 

***

***

 

They're assembling afternoon tea for themselves - Spock collecting the milk and sugar accessories and Nyota measuring the leaves - when Nyota says, "Leo's here." 

Spock sets the tray down on the breakfast table and sees Nyota peering out the kitchen window. He joins her, leaning over the sink to see Leonard arguing with one of the guards posted at the edge of the front lawn. "I will see what he wants," Spock says, turning and walking for the door.

"Invite him in."

Spock stops and looks back into the kitchen. "Nyota?"

"It's a long drive from the city. Don't turn him around and make him drive it again without a cup of coffee, at least." 

Spock considers this as he walks out across the lawn to Leonard, who pauses in his demands of the poor guard to direct all his attention at Spock. His animation doesn't lessen. "Spock, where's Jim? I haven't heard from him in two weeks, and all I hear on the news is about some murdered police chief and a plaza explosion - "

"Doctor McCoy, no one on this property knows Jim's whereabouts at this time - "

"But you're the only one who can give me some damn answers!" 

The anger falters on Leonard's face, briefly, but it's enough for Spock to realize how desperate Leonard really is. His eyes are wide and lined with dark circles, and every time he gestures out with his hands, it feels like he's reaching for something that isn't there. "Leonard, I have no answers for you." It shouldn't make him so uncomfortable to say these words.

Leonard stares at him, swallows hard, and then starts to dig into his pocket for something. "Could you at least…I have something…" He pulls out a note on a wrinkled piece of paper. From the way it absorbs the afternoon sun, Spock knows it's not electronic, it's not connected to any network: it's a rare hardcopy. And Spock knows he still can't take it.

"I cannot accept this," he says as Leonard tries to give it to him. "If I did, it could be proven that I am aware of Jim's location, and that not only imperils my life, but Jim's as well." Spock watches as Leonard deflates and doesn't say anything as he tucks the paper back into his pocket. He practices, for the company's sake, at being cold, but he does not wish to be cruel, here. "Come inside," he offers.

Leonard looks up. "What?"

"Join Nyota and I inside." Spock motions back to the house. "We were about to have tea, but you may have something else, if you prefer."

Leonard looks at him for a long moment, suspicious, but then his shoulders relax and he acquiesces. "Yeah, all right." 

 

\---

He lives in the middle of fucking nowhere. Jim wonders why Spock sent him all the way out to Gaul, when he could have just smuggled him off to Iowa. It would have looked the same and covered him just as well. But Gaul is just alien enough to shift him off balance: the wheat is replaced by quadrotriticalie, there are unfamiliar evergreens sprouting between homesteads, and there are just enough aliens among the human colony that, even as a newcomer, Jim doesn't stick out. 

"You want something to eat?" Gary asks him from the living room as he plays a game of Galactic Armada. 

Jim rolls over in bed, holding out a worn copy of Treasure Island over the side of the bed as he stars at the white speckled ceiling. He's used to being busy: on a starship either manning a post or commanding the entire ship, or planet-side arranging the best possible supplies and people for that same ship. Now, Spock expects him to just lie here and wait for the signal to return, safely. Spock expects him to entertain himself through other means, in a place utterly at odds with the cities and vessels he's grown up loving.

Spock expects him to sit here and be calm while the rest of the company wages war against its competitors light-years away, while all Jim can do is sit and read. 

Jim lets the book drop from his hand onto the floor, stares a moment longer at the ceiling, and then sits up. "I'm going for a walk." 

"What?"

He gets off the bed and grabs his wallet from the side table and starts walking for the front door. He knows that Gary will follow him, out of duty and friendship, but he wishes he wouldn't. Nevertheless, he hears the phaser scrape against the table as Gary picks it up. Gary jogs to catch up with him as he steps out of the door, causing the wood floors to creak under his steps. "I need to tell Sulu - "

"He knows," Jim says as he steps off the porch. He walks just far enough to see the open window above the garage and waves. Sulu waves back.

 

Two blocks of shops and one boulevard make up main street of the nearest town. Most people still use wheeled vehicles, and at the end of the road sits a hulking feed and supply depot, towering two stories over every other building. It reminds him of Iowa. 

He walks up and down the street, greeting a grocer, trying an orange, buying a bag. After he's dropped by the post office, the vet's office, and the little Fed police outpost, he heads for the diner at the corner of town, his bag of oranges half as heavy. Gary follows with his hands in his coat pockets, keeping his phaser concealed while he smiles in Jim's wake.

The diner looks like a first-gen colony module, all upholstered steel and off-white formica, but the pictures on the wall and the yellow lights soften it enough for Jim to start to feel comfortable. Gary gets them a table in the middle. A blond-haired woman sits at the corner booth, writing on one PADD and reading another. 

"We should have gone to a bigger town," Gary says as he looks out the window. "We're getting too familiar here."

"Maybe that's what we need. They'd expect us somewhere bigger, and the more familiar we are the less we stick out." Jim looks over Gary's shoulder while he talks, watching the young woman tap and scribble without pause. He's not sure what interests him more: the woman or the PADDs. What's holding her attention so well? Why, in two weeks, has he never seen her?

She looks up. Jim looks away as the waitress steps up to ask them for drinks. 

 

Jim's soda is half-empty and he's waiting for his short-stack-bacon-eggs weekly cholesterol fix when he decides to fuck caution and get up from his seat. Gary starts after him, but Jim waves him down before he walks over to the corner booth.

"Mind if I join you?"

The woman looks up, sweeping a lock of blond hair behind her ear. She looks at him and blinks. "I'm working," she says curtly.

Well. It was worth a shot. He looks at the table, one hand sliding into the pocket of his jeans while he shifts his weight. "Sorry, I'll--"

"But you can sit."

Jim looks at her, still for a moment, and then he grins. She smiles, too, as he takes a seat across from her. "You always pull that stunt?" He rests his elbow on the table, his arms folding over each other.

"It keeps the boring ones away." She leans back in her seat. Her pen taps against the side of her PADD while she reaches over to sip her half-empty vanilla milkshake. "So, what's your name?"

"Jim."

"Jim…?"

His smile softens; he doesn't want to lie, but there's a reason he's out on the fringes of human civilization. "Jim. You?"

"Carol."

"Carol…?"

She laughs. Jim's almost forgotten how it feels to make a woman laugh, how it lightens his heart, just a little. "From above the florist shop." 

So it's going to be one of those. Maybe that's all he wants right now. Maybe that's all he needs.

\--

Jim returns that evening to a one-two chorus on how he shouldn't flirt with strange women at diners, especially those who look busy and intelligent enough to manage three PADDs at once.

"You left me there to eat pancakes by myself," Gary whines over a late evening beer, sitting on the couch his feet propped up on the edge of the coffee table. Jim sits on the other side of the couch, jotting notes in an old leather journal. He had picked it up at the general store when they first landed in town. 

"He's right, Jim," Sulu chimes in. He sits on the floor cleaning his blade - a nightly ritual ever since they landed. "You know it's not unheard of for the other syndicates to send decoys."

"If they can send decoys here, that means we know we're here, so we're fucked either way. That means we have to move."

"Maybe we should."

"Fuck, that's not what I mean." Jim tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, closing the notebook with the pen sandwiched between the pages. "Listen, Carol's just interesting, not a threat. And if she is, I'm not going to share company secrets with her. This isn't the first time I've made a friend, guys. Not even the first time since I've been a fucking captain."

"You think she doesn't know who you are?" Gary asks. Jim shrugs. "Your face isn't hard to find on the networks."

"Well, that's Spock's fault, not mine." Jim rocks up from the couch to his feet. He kicks at Gary's ankles so he can get out of the corner. "I'm going to see her tomorrow. Sulu, come with me, you can tell me if you think she's undercover."

Sulu nods.

"What about me?" Gary pouts at him.

"Find us another place to live if things go south. I know there's another town on this planet." Jim leaves them both in the leaving room and heads to bed. 

 

\---

Boyce allows Christopher to leave the hospital after his heart has stabilized and the tensions have fallen into a brief lull. That takes three weeks. The trip back to the ranch feels three times as long as normal.

When everyone has greeted Christopher and made their way back out into the living room for drinks and snacks, he, Sam, and Spock sit alone in the master bedroom. Christopher exhales a heavy sigh as he slumps back against his pillows. "Spock, where's Jim?"

Spock blinks, looks at Sam standing at the foot of the bed, and away again. He feels Christopher's gaze on him while his own is squarely on the round edge of the bed. "Jim is currently residing in a remote alpha-quadrant farming colony." He swallows hard, feeling guilt he can't rationalize. "He was at the Plaza - he shot Zhu and captured Harrison." 

"But we're starting to get him back," Sam says, as if that will help. 

He looks up to see Christopher meet his gaze, but his face is blank and his eyes are cold. "…I see," Christopher says after an age. "Why don't you check what the others are up to, outside." It's not a request. Spock rises from his seat, and he follows Sam out the door, shutting the door softly behind him.

Out in the hallway, Sam stops where the hallway turns to the left and out to the kitchen and the lounge. He scrubs a hand over his face, and paces back and forth, but the hallway is too narrow to let Spock pass. So he stands and waits for Sam's agitation to diminish.

"Fuck," Sam mutters under his breath. Spock thinks he might be here longer than he intends.

"You were expecting a better reaction?"

"No," Sam snaps at him. "I wasn't expecting a better fucking reaction. We need to bring Jim back. Find out where Mendez is hiding, we'll get him before the end of the week--"

"Sam, it may be more prudent to allow relations to settle. Pike can negotiate for Jim…"

"Chris isn't going to do shit until he gets better. I'll decide how to handle this - "

"Yet this continued stalemate is compromising company profits - "

"Mendez can't make any money either, so stop harping on it!"

"His company does not support operations comparable to ours. Neither we nor our partners can accept indefinite instability - "

"Then we'll end it now. You find me Mendez and I'll kill the son of a bitch myself."

"And will you also manage your own reputation as a murderer?"

"Goddammit, Spock!" Sam hits the wall with his fist. It holds. Spock doesn't flinch. "Just do what I say. Fuck, if I had a human helping me through this war I wouldn't be in this mess! Chris had George and look what I've got."

Spock lets the figurative dust settle in silence, lets Sam take a few more breaths to calm himself, waits a few moments longer so that the anger twists into regret, like it always does.

"Sorry, Spock. I didn't mean it like that…well maybe a little but, hey, before you leave, Boyce made some dinner…"

Spock turns away from him and starts to walk towards the kitchen. "There is no need to apologize. We all work for the same company." 

 

\---

Winona calls the house at three-seventeen in the morning, three months after Jim disappears from any and all trackers. Spock is awake to take her call (because he can't sleep, sometimes, knowing he is trusting Jim to deep space and probability). 

"Spock," Winona says over the video-less subspace call, "so help me I will kill you."

Spock sits in Christopher's chair, in the dark, shirtless, and wonders how his life has come to this with absolutely no chocolate liqueur to speak of. He glances mournfully from one side of the study to the other but sees nothing to ease the pain of this call.

"Ms. Kirk," Spock says, "there was no other way to eliminate the threat but to use Jim. He volunteered for it, in fact."

"I don't give a damn if he drove himself to the fight," Winona snaps back. "There's always another way to handle these things. You could have done it yourself."

"Those were not the terms of the meeting."

"Why does that fucking matter! You have the largest fleet in the Fed, Spock!"

"Had, madam. Half of our domestic fleet and all of our biggest star ships have been incapacitated."

"It's a good thing I'm coming home, then."

"…I would advise against this."

"I know. And I don't care. Tell Number One she owes me a drink."

"Noted."

"And Spock? I know what time it is there. Go the fuck to sleep."

 

\---

The leaves around Jim's little hideaway turn the darkest shade of red Jim's ever seen, so that between the evergreens there are globs of blood red cutting through the forest - and if Jim's feeling poetic looking outside his bedroom window, he'll think of them exactly like that.

But with the changing of the seasons comes the harvest, and in a farming town, that's all they talk about now. Orange and green pumpkins, three-eared corn, apples so numerous and heavy they make the trees bend low. Harvest is an event that lasts for a week or more as far as Jim knows, and such fanfare reminds Jim of distant times he's only read about. 

And it reminds him of Iowa, what little he chooses to remember about it. 

They all go out to the apple orchards - Carol, Jim, Gary, and Sulu - but technically Jim goes with Carol and the other two hang back and watch. They give him enough space to walk the orchard rows until Jim almost feels they're alone, where they can sample apples together and share a kiss behind a row of short, squat trees.

Carol pulls her hair up into a pony tail for the adventure, and more than a few times Jim looks at her and thinks - they could just run off into the forest, lose the entourage, and take the next shuttle out to the frontier colonies. She can walk, run, hike, climb - she's fearless, going out onto a suspicious limb to grab the best apple off the branch - and with her, Jim forgets about who he was. Who he is in the Core.

"This has been loads of fun," Carol says as they sit at an old wooden picnic bench with cups of cider in their hands. "I haven't been this far away from work for…years."

"Weren't you here last year?" Jim asks.

"I was, yeah," Carol sips her cider, "but I thought it was - provincial, you see? Just a bunch of apples. What do I need twenty pounds of apples for?"

"What do you need twenty pounds of apples for?" Jim looks at the burlap sack sitting next to him, nearly bursting with red-yellow and green fruit.

Carol shrugs and takes a long drink of her cider before seting the cup down. "Maybe I'll bake you and your boys a pie." She leans over to look past Jim and waves. Jim looks over his shoulder to see Gary and Sulu, twenty yards away, wave back.

He rolls his eyes. "That'd be good. We haven't had anything good to eat for a week now."

"Not so domestic, are you?"

"I could be better." Jim knocks back the rest of his cider and then stands from the table. "The wagon's back - we still jumping on?"

"Of course." 

 

Carol bakes two excellent pies for them, one with the crust doming up high and golden, the other with the apples peeking through a honeyed lattice. 

They take more than an hour to finish in the oven. With brown sugar still on her lips, Carol kisses Jim and smears cinnamon on his plaid shirt. Jim presses floured handprints on her dress as he holds her hips.

At night, in his own bed, Jim sleeps well, satisfied. 

 

\---

The fog coming off the Pacific has barely cleared before the quiet of the morning is broken.

"Fucking shit." Sam snaps his communicator shut and runs from the kitchen to the front door. Along the way, he knocks over a vase of flowers and a stack of books, but he doesn't wait for Spock to rush out ask what his fucking 'concern' is. He wouldn't understand.

He runs across the front yard to his car, sitting heavily in the front seat. He revs the engine, slams the thrusters on, and barely glimpses Spock running out on the lawn, shouting after him.

 

The long, quiet ride to San Francisco just makes him more impatient. He taps his hand nervously against the steering wheel, the window edge, the gear shift, and all he hears is his mother's voice: Sam, baby, they're not letting me out of the shuttleport.

 

He starts descending out of the sky when he sees the bay. The afternoon sun reflects off the water and the city gleams just ahead of him. His hand taps, one two three, on the steering wheel, and his car rocks to the side with a hot, smoky roar. The city and the horizon tumble in his gaze, air rushes through a shattered window. Sam tastes the acrid burn of electronics, coughs, and lurches with the car. The city rolls up and out of his view.

All Sam sees are the shining waters of the bay.

 

\---

Spock sits near the window holding a glass to his lips. The chocolate liqueur tastes like water and doesn't hit his bloodstream as quickly as he wants. He can already hear Christopher's footsteps coming down the hallway. The door clicks.

He doesn't watch Christopher approach. His gaze remains fixed out the window, where Number One and Boyce watch the skies for Winona's car, but he can hear the slow, dull thuds of Christopher's cane against the carpeted floor, the creak of the the leather and Christopher's sigh as he settles down in the chair behind his desk. "Spock," he says in a quiet voice, "what aren't you telling me?"

There's a thousand ways to start this: Spock considers them all as he looks down into his glass. "…I was about to bring the news to you."

"But you needed a drink first." Christopher says with a roughness to his voice, hinting at his fatigue. Spock doesn't want to consider how much more exhausted his news will make him, but he can't keep his silence. It's his duty to keep Christopher informed.

"Sam's car was shot over San Francisco bay," Spock says, reciting words he had practiced before. "They targeted his thrusters, and he plunged into the water from a height of nine hundred meters." He set his glass on the window ledge and folded his hands together. "We managed to recover the wreckage earlier this evening, including the body."

Spock looks up to see Christopher staring down at his cane, his mouth a thin line. Having released the facts as he knew them, Spock didn't offer any more words - not even of condolence, because this wasn't the time to dwell on death when there were so many other things to organize. But he still saw Christopher's hand tighten over the head of his cane and felt the same twist in his side.

"…I don't want any retaliation, from anybody - we ask questions and gather the facts. See to it personally, Spock."

"Of course."

"Once we know what happened, arrange a meeting with the other corporations. This ends now." He pulled himself out of the chair and walked slowly to stop next to Spock's chair. His rested a hand on Spock's shoulder. "I don't mean to give you all this work, Spock, but there's no one else to give it to."

Christopher smiles at him, reassuring him with the warm grip at his shoulder, but Spock sees the pain around his eyes. "It is my honor to assist you, Christopher. You know this."

Christopher chuckles. "Don't let me forget that it's mine, too. We'll get through this…and then we can bring Jim back." Christopher pats him on the shoulder again and makes his way out of the office, no doubt to talk to Number One and Boyce outside.

 

\---

They sit on top of the florist shop and look at the stars. 

Jim tries not to say that he's from Earth, but it's difficult not to let on how much he knows about space, and the references he uses would give him away. 

"Have you ever worked - out there?" he asks, deciding that it's better if he keeps the conversation away from himself.

Carol has a faint, forlorn smile on her face. She doesn't look at him, just keeps her eyes on the sky as she wraps her arms around her legs. "I've wanted to, but my father thinks it's too…dangerous."

"Yours, too?" Jim jokes, but he doesn't mean space. There's an entire world about running a fleet that Chris keeps him from for the same reason. He wonders if Chris would say it's still too 'dangerous,' after all this.

"Then," Jim continues, "you've been…here?"

"Forever? Heavens, no," Carol laughs. "I came here to write my report. There's less distractions than some metropolis planet."

Jim rubs the back of his neck. "Does this count as a distraction? If you want to go back in and write--"

"Don't be stupid, Jim." She gives his shoulder a little shove. "You're one of the most wonderful distractions. I'll be sad to see you go."

Jim looks at her, brow furrowed. "Go? You think I have to leave?"

"Don't you?" Carol meets his gaze, and Jim can see she's completely confident in her assessment, as confident as she is when she's tinkering with devices out in a forest meadow. "Your friends follow you around all the time. You don't work. You never stay the night. To me - to a lot of people, Jim - that sounds like a man who's about to leave in the dead of night. 

"Not there's anything wrong with that, mind you," she follows up when Jim opens his mouth to protest, "it just seems rather silly to deny it when it's so obvious, that you don't intend to stay here." 

Jim sighs and looks back to the stars, running a hand through his hair. "What if I did?" he asked. "What would I work as? I am a terrible farmer, Carol. Really. I don't grow things."

Carol laughs softly. "I'm sure you could find something else to do. You could fetch me coffee, for one." 

"Is that a hint?"

"See, you're very clever." She grins at him, and Jim laughs. He gets up and climbs down the ladder off the roof to the second-floor balcony, which leads right into Carol's blue-and-white bedroom. As Jim waits for the water to heat in the old-fashioned kettle, he calls Sulu.

"Yeah, hi - no, nothing's wrong. Just…I'll be staying the night, I think. I'm sure. Yeah, it's in the bag. Okay. Be safe. See you tomorrow."

 

\---

At 0230, Spock hears the car pull up in front of the house. He pushes himself up from the couch when he sees the lights flash through the windows. His neck aches and his chest still feels tight, but Spock manages to drag himself to the door. There's already a conversation outside, voices muffled by the heavy wood of the door.

He steps out and sees Leonard. He and the guard, the one with the pulse phaser slung over his shoulder, stop talking to look at him. Spock gives a single nod, and the guard steps away to stand nearer the car, and Leonard rushes to him.

"What are you doing here?" Spock asks, taking Leonard by the arm and bringing him inside the dark, quiet house. 

"I heard what happened," Leonard says as they stop in the hallway, only lit by a single bulb from the kitchen. Spock can see the scruff on Leonard's jaw and the deep wrinkles of his shirt, but Spock supposes he doesn't look fresh and rested, either. "Had to drive down from the bay. It's a mess getting out of there."

Leonard's hand touches Spock's elbow, then rubs his arm, and Spock perception narrows to that touch and Leonard's proximity. "Where's Nyota?" Leonard asks.

"She is flying in from Beijing tomorrow morning."

"Oh." Spock's gaze shifts away, to the living room he had been napping in, the PADDs that are still brightly lit on the coffee table. "Spock, tell me honestly - how are you holding up?" 

Spock looks at him. Maybe he really is that tired and his gaze betrays his emotional state, because Leonard tugs him into the living room and guides him to sit down with a firm grip at his shoulder. "Talk to me." His hand lingers on Spock's arm, near the wrist he healed so much earlier.

"I have only known Sam personally for half as long as I have known Pike," Spock says, folding his hands together in his lap. "And while we have not always agreed, he was still - an integral part of…this. The family of this house. With Christopher incapacitated and Ms. Kirk and Jim abroad…the responsibility fell to me to protect him. I failed in that."

"Spock - "

"Don't try to correct me with human platitudes, Leonard. I should not have let him fly alone." 

"Okay, Spock, if you want to be logical…" Leonard takes a breath, as if it pains him to do this. "If you sit here and beat yourself up over this, that's not going to help anybody. Not Pike or Nyota or, hell, me, if that matters to you."

"Leonard - "

"And I understand you're grieving, and you're going to second-guess yourself, but don't, Spock. It's - it's 'illogical,' but it's also unhealthy, for your body and your mind." 

"Leonard," Spock reaches out to lay his hand over on Leonard's, tentatively touching his fingertips over Leonard's knuckles. "Regardless of what I do, do not doubt that you matter."

Briefly, that's enough to get him to pause, and Spock watches as Leonard looks down at his hand, then back at him, and a little smile tugs at the edge of his mouth. "Nyota told me about this," Leonard says. "She said you could get very handsy."

"It is one of my many failings."

"Failings? Don't be so hard on yourself, Spock. It's still you. I'm the one who has to be careful." Leonard turns his hand over and curls his fingers around Spock's hand, and the warmth, the firm strength, the undercurrent of hopeful thoughts - it distracts him utterly from the grief. Until Leonard asks, "Are you sure about this?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I know people can do a lot of dumb shit when they're looking for something to numb their pain." Leonard's voice remains soft, not angry. "You've already got Nyota. There's no reason for you to start opening yourself to all my problems, especially when I'm still so wrapped up with Jim." 

"If that were the case, I would have never opened myself to Nyota's company," Spock points out, already feeling the grief and the guilt start to filter back on the edges of his thoughts. "But you will drive yourself mad pining for Jim while he is away, and he entrusted Nyota and I to protect you." Spock leans his shoulder against Leonard's. "Which includes you, your problems, and your relative sanity."

Leonard chuckles. "Relative sanity?"

"We are not, obviously, the norm," Spock murmurs. "But that's irrelevant between us. Will you stay through the morning?"

"…I guess." Leonard sighs. He give Spock's hand a light squeeze. "But we're not sleeping here. You got a bed?"

"I do."

Spock's too tired and distracted to notice how strange it is to have a new person in his bed, nor that they are clothed save their shoes because they're both too tired to strip.

When the lights blink out, Spock closes his eyes and starts to drift. "Leonard?"

"Yeah?"

"I enjoy your waffles very much."

Spock hears a soft laugh, and the bed shifts a little. "You haven't tried my french toast."

 

\---

The house suffocates Spock, but he can't leave.

He's never felt so much grief in the house at once: from Christopher, from Winona and Boyce and Number One, from Sam's young family and everyone else he held just as close when he lived. 

Leonard's french toast coaxes him out of bed the next morning despite everything. They both look haggard and unshaven when Nyota arrives late the next morning, and she just smiles softly before making herself a mug of coffee. 

"How is everything?" she asks as she sits at the table between Spock and Leonard. They look at each other for a moment; Leonard raises his eyebrows - it's your call - and then goes back to his toast. Spock dampens the instinctive urge to kick him underneath the table.

"Number One brought Ms. Kirk from the shuttleport this morning," Spock says, looking down at his empty plate. "The police had detained her for some extended questioning. We have yet to uncover the reason why. They have been in the study all morning."

There's another flare of grief from that side of the house and Spock's hand tightens to a fist on the table. Nyota reaches over to rub behind his shoulder.

"It'll be all right," Nyota says. Spock believes her without question and lets it buoy his thoughts into less negative lines of decisions. "Can I help with anything?"

Spock looks over at her, and he is about to refuse from habit, but he sees Leonard eating out of the corner of his eye. "…yes," Spock sits up a little straighter and takes her hand, squeezes it gently beneath the edge of the table. "Can you inform Leonard that our desire for him is not the result of grief-stricken madness?"

Leonard chokes on his glass of chocolate milk while Nyota laughs, and she leans forward to kiss Spock's cheek. "Yes, of course." Still holding Spock's hand, she turns in her seat to face Leonard, instantly professional. "Doctor McCoy - "

"I'm not deaf," Leonard wheezes as he wipes a napkin down the front of his shirt. "You made your point, Spock."

 

\---

There's a train that connects Jim's farm town to the main city on the planet. It ships grain, animals, plastics and people, car after car, with one monstrous engine at the front and the back. 

Sulu takes this train to the main city on a Tuesday at 0745, just as they had prearranged months ago, and he will be gone for most of the day: to meet Spock's Vulcan contact, to buy some food, to buy replacements for communicators they hardly use. So Jim decides to spend the morning and early afternoon with Carol, helping her solder a simple set of circuits she needs for her project and report. Jim hasn't played with circuits since the Academy - blown consoles from starship combat not withstanding - so he relishes the opportunity. 

They sit at a pair of tables outside one of the main street cafes, covering the surface of each with their respective tools - PADDs or electrical boards - except for a tiny square large enough for a cup and saucer. They don't talk most of the time, unless there's something neat they find in research or in wiring, but every half an hour Carol will tell Jim to get up - to walk, to get another cup of coffee, to fetch a pastry - and when Jim sits back down she'll get up and do the same. Jim assumes she doesn't want to leave her work unattended. 

A little past one in the afternoon, Sulu jogs up to the cafe. There's sweat on his brow, and he's breathless when he stops by Jim's table.

"Sulu, what's wrong?" Jim asks, setting the soldering gun aside and standing from his chair. He turns to Carol. "Could you get some water?"

"On it."

Sulu watches Carol leave, and then he takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Jim," Sulu says, his voice low even under the everyday noise around them. "Your brother, Sam, he's…he's dead. They got him in his car, over the bay."

Carol returns with a glass of water, and Sulu thanks her before he downs it. Jim hears none of their words, because suddenly the din of the street and the shop grow into a roar in his ears, as loud as a freight train, and he sinks back into the chair, barely breathing.

"Jim? Jim!" 

Carol touches his shoulder, worried, and Jim is slow to look up. "My brother, he…" He can't. Sam's always been there, Sam's always teased him, Sam's always had his ear to the streets and his hand on his phaser.

Sam's gone.

 

\---

Spock sits just behind Christopher's shoulder. From here, he can lean in and whisper things to his ear, but he can also watch the other leaders sitting at the table. 

"Thank you all for coming. I know it's the busy season," says Marcus from the head of the long table. The dark shade under his eyes seems darker, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth a little deeper - he looks like he's aged another five years since the last time Spock saw him in person at Christopher's ranch. But, he reasons, it could have been a stressful two years for Marcus. Even Christopher sports more grey streaks then he did previously.

"We're here on behalf of Christopher Pike," Marcus says with a gesture of his arm towards Christopher, "who is willing to call a truce between all of us."

"Thanks, Alex." Christopher gets to his feet with the help of his cane. Spock forces himself to remain in his own seat. "It's unfortunate that we, as old friends, have had to resort to this business of killing when there is an entire galaxy out there to take advantage of." Spock watches as Christopher shifts his grip on the cane; Boyce had been worried about this, Christopher trying to make himself appear stronger and healthier than he was.

"I still stand by my judgment about these weapons - it's a dangerous business. If we're not careful, it'll destroy us before we can even get it to the frontier, just like it almost has." Christopher sits with only the slightest tremble to in his leg.

"Are you still going to hold all the power, Christopher?" Chaudhari asks from where she sits across the table in a red sari. "The rest of us need those connections to the Council, the Andorians…the Vulcans." Spock feels stares shift to himself.

"Chaudhari is right," Wei chimes in; she sits in a full suit and tie further down the giant table. "Share the resources. Charge us if you want, but stop tying us to Earth."

Spock feels the conspicuous weight of the phaser at his side under his suit jacket. He looks from one person to the other at the table; the only one who refuses to speak up is Mendez, sitting safely at Marcus' left.

Christopher doesn't say anything at first, leaning forward slowly to brace his arms against the table, his hands folded together. "When have I ever refused to help you all, when you have asked me directly, when it would help both of us? I extend the same help to all of you - even Juan - but I stand by what I have said about these weapons. If we bait the Klingons into declaring war, all of our money will be spent to pay for it."

"But if you do not allow us to arm our vessels," Wei interrupts again, "then if they attack us, we'll be destroyed." 

Spock thinks to himself - no, only their ships will be destroyed; Christopher's Starfleet has always been armed well enough.

"So let's make a compromise," Marcus says. "Chris will help us with the armament of our ships, gradually, so we don't arouse suspicion in the Klingons. We'll pay for his help, of course, and we'll stop these skirmishes."

The rest is details; Spock makes mental notes for later, but most of his attention focuses on Christopher, watching for signs of fatigue until they can return home.

 

Spock pulls the car out of the driveway, and then out of the city; Christopher says nothing but looks out the window. "…did you want me to arrange the timetable of releasing weapons to the other companies, Christopher?"

"Hm?" Christopher looks over to him, eyebrows up as if Spock had just stirred him from his thoughts. "No, Alex will know what to do. But make sure he doesn't rush through it."

"You believe he will?"

"He's wanted to for years now," Christopher says, looking out the window again. "And he finally can. I just can't believe I didn't see it before." He sighs. "I knew Mendez would have never been able to surprise Sam, but Alex…sorry, Spock, I know you don't have much patience for the ponderings of an old man."

"Perhaps not other old men," Spock pulls the car up into the hills, "but I have always made an exception for you."

Christopher chuckles, and he tilts his head back against the seat with a faint smile on his lips. "Then you won't mind if I talk about how we're going to get Jim back."

\---

Devices with bare wires and half-finished interfaces litter every surface of Carol's apartment, including a rudimentary electrolytic battery sitting in her sink, which Jim side-eyes and Carol shrugs off. 

Not that it usually stops them from working or playing, and Jim doesn't mind fucking between two towers of circuit boards and scrap metal, really. 

On a clear, cold winter day, Jim wakes up before Carol does. He checks his comm, sends a message to Sulu and Gary to ensure them he's still alive, and then goes into the bathroom to wash up. 

He's going through the cupboards trying to find the mouthwash when he finds himself eye-level with a box labeled Home Pregnancy Test--95% accurate for all humanoids*!

Jim grabs the box, turning it over in his hands. It's empty. 

He sets it back down on the shelf, shuts the cupboard, and stands. His disheveled reflection looks back at him from the mirror: no shirt, wrinkled boxers, hair sticking in five directions at once - is this really the best time for wild guesses? Or worse, a long talk?

Washing his face in the sink, Jim thinks: is there ever a good time? 

When he leaves the bathroom Carol is awake, reading something on her PADD in bed. She looks up and smiles at him. "Morning."

"Morning," Jim says with his own smile. The pregnancy test still lingers at the back of his mind.

"Did you still want to go to the city? The train comes in a couple of hours." She looks hopeful; Carol said she wanted to go to pick up some parts - for her research - and Jim had wanted to tag along, both for some time with Carol and to see some new faces. 

Gary didn't mind and Sulu silently objected when he told them, but Jim could still go - and he wouldn't let his morning get in the way of that. "Yeah," Jim says, running a hand through his hair. "I do. But you want some breakfast first? That place across the street?"

Carol grins. "Yes, of course - let me find some clothes first."

"I'm not complaining."

Carol rolls her eyes as she brushes past him towards her wardrobe. "It's a little too chilly for something like that."

 

Jim thinks about bringing it up at breakfast - but then Carol will tell a joke, or someone will walk too close, and Jim thinks against it. 

And soon enough, he and Carol are sitting on the train bound for the capital city, the forest whipping by. Carol rests her chin in her hand, her elbow braced against the window, and Jim watches the other people on the train. It's a weekday; the only other people there are farmers, retirees, and geologists. 

His comm buzzes in his pocket and he checks it. He frowns.

"What is it?" Carol asks.

"Sulu says that a Starfleet shuttle came to town, looking for me," Jim says. He stares at the screen a little longer before shaking his head and slipping the comm back into his pocket. "They'll have to wait." 

Carol tilts her head. "Why would they be coming for you?" 

"I don't know." He does know. "But it's probably nothing." Jim stands, stretching. "I'm going to the other car - do you want anything from the bar?" 

"No thanks."

Jim makes his way through the passenger car into the caboose doubling as a snack bar. A young man sits behind a dark counter surrounded by jars of candy and dried fruit, coffee machines, and a screen scrolling through the planet's news. 

As Jim orders a cup of coffee and a chocolate bar, his comm buzzes again. This time it reads: Do you know where Gary is? Can't find him at the house. Car's gone. Shuttle still here.

He gets a cold feeling in his gut, the same one he gets when he's in space and they enter a quadrant blind; the same one that makes him take cover when no one has fired a shot.

"Hold on for a minute," he tells the kid about to give him his coffee, and he walks back towards the passenger car. 

The great orange cloud of fire races through the door before the sound wave of the explosion hits him, throwing him to the back of the caboose.

He feels more than hears the horrible screeching of the car hitting the track, skidding off to the side, and the car tumbles onto its side. The young man behind the bar manages to hold onto his counter, covered in granola and candy. 

Jim blinks up at the side - now the ceiling - of the car, where he can see blue sky through the windows, and then he pushes himself up. His skin feels hot, burned, and his back tingles with new bruises, but he can walk. The caboose has stopped completely. 

He climbs out through the back door and stands in high grass, looking towards the track: half of the passenger car, metal blown back and burned, is attached to the engine, now stopped further down the track - what trails behind it is furniture stuffing, more melted metal, and bodies. Not all of them have stopped moving.

"Carol!" The mountain air and the trees and the high grass suck out the power from his hoarse voice, and the high slope and soft dirt slow his progress up the hill to the track. He looks for a bright blue shirt or blond hair or black boots, but everything (and everyone) is variations of soot and blood.

So he checks who he can reach; he checks those that are twitching or screaming but he doesn't find Carol.

He hears the hum of an engine racing over the trees and he looks up to see the car Sulu was talking about - their car, missing. Jim squints against the sun and he sees Gary sitting in the front seat.

"Gary!" Jim waves his arms, trying to get Gary's attention. The car slows, descends a few feet, and Jim swears that Gary sees him, before the car speeds away into the sky towards the capital. 

Jim stares after it, his hands falling to his side, his mouth dry. 

He takes a few breaths, tasting acrid smoke in the air, before he takes out his phone and tells Sulu to bring help, bring the shuttle, follow the track. He hopes what Sulu has really is a Starfleet shuttle. In the mean time, he has to help these people here - the ones that might survive.

It doesn't take more than ten minutes for silver Starfleet shuttle to race over the tops of the trees and stop over the wreckage, where Jim has managed to stabilize two men and is working on stifling the blood flow where one woman's arm used to be. As the shuttle descends it kicks up dust, but Jim doesn't look away from his patient. He doesn't have enough shirt left for a good tourniquet. 

"Jim." Sulu says from behind him. "We gotta go, before the authorities get here."

"Give me your shirt."

"What - "

"Just do it!"

The extra cloth helps, he finally gets a good knot and the woman is still conscious. By then, he can hear the blare of emergency shuttles racing up from the direction of the city. "C'mon," Sulu says again, taking Jim by the elbow to help him get to his feet.

"What about the others?" Jim argues, pulling his arm back when he gets to his feet. "A few seconds could make all the difference - "

"I got orders."

"From me!"

"Sorry, Jim, not this time," Sulu says, looking away from him and towards the shuttle. Jim follows his gaze and sees Spock standing in the doorway of the shuttle, immaculate and unaffected by the carnage around them. 

The sirens are getting louder. He hesitates - but they'll never get out of here if they don't leave now. 

"Fuck," he mutters, and starts towards the shuttle. "Let's go." Sulu follows behind him.

Spock steps aside from the doorway to the shuttle to let Jim pass. "Jim."

"Fuck you," Jim hisses, and he sits down heavily in one of the passenger seats. "Fuck this."

Sulu takes the pilot seat while Spock moves towards Jim. The door hisses shut and the engines hum as the shuttle lifts off the ground. Spock moves to buckle Jim into his seat.

"I can do it myself," Jim says, trying to wave off Spock's hands.

"I know." Spock says, continuing despite Jim's motions. When he's secure, Spock sits down in a seat across from him. Jim's ready for Spock to say something infuriating, and he's ready to lash out, but Spock just glances over him and asks, "What were you doing on that train, Jim?"

Jim slumps in his seat, exhausted and hot and bruised, and he says, "I was with a friend." He swallows hard. "And I couldn't find her."

"Do you think she is dead?"

Jim can't muster the energy to truly glare at Spock, but he does look at him, his face caught between confusion and despair. "…I don't know. Maybe? Where else…I don't know. Fuck, Spock, these last few months - she was - "

Spock holds up a hand to stop him. "Tell me on the ship, Jim. The past can always wait."

 

***

***

 

Leonard steps out of the hospital after a double shift, and he sees Jim sitting on a bench at the end of the walkway, trying to look inconspicuous in his black leather jacket. Even as he stares, Leonard keeps walking. His heart beats so hard it aches, and Jim doesn't look up until Leonard is almost at the bench.

Jim smiles. "Hey." 

Fourteen months, no messages, no calls, and Jim says hey.

"You've got some nerve," Leonard says, and the relief he feels from finally being able to tell Jim something evaporates when he sees the smile fade from Jim's face into some crestfallen, kicked-puppy pout. Leonard sighs. "I don't want to talk here. Can you come over to the house?" 

"Yeah, of course." Jim gets up from the bench, and out of the corner of his eye Leonard sees someone else stand. He looks over and sees two guys standing there in suits, watching him. "Uh, yeah." Jim claps a hand on his shoulder and leans in. "Spock's not letting me wander around alone." 

"Great." 

"But they can give us a ride." Jim's smiling again.

 

Bones' house is a quaint little painted house in a row of colored cottages. The two guys wait outside on the porch, sitting on Leonard's cheap outdoor furniture, when Leonard finally gets to stand with Jim in his living room, alone.

Jim opens his mouth to say something and Leonard grabs him for a hard kiss, gripping the lapels of his coat to keep him close. Jim kisses him back, with teeth and tongue and that passion Leonard has missed so much, and between the door and the couch they manage to lose both of their coats and Jim's shirt. 

When Leonard sits on the couch he pulls Jim with him, dragging him by the hips into his lap. For a moment he takes solace in the crook of Jim's neck, inhaling the scent and warmth of him while rubbing one hand over the planes of Jim's chest, feel the light fuzz of hair beneath his hand. 

But then he feels a mark he doesn't remember: his fingers curl over Jim's ribs and feel a broad, healing scab. Leonard pulls back to see the wound, still bruised underneath the skin. He looks up to see Jim watching him.

"Tell me what happened," Leonard says. "Tell me everything."

 

\---

Spock sits back and watches people file into the room. He sees the initial uncertainty on most everyone's face - where to sit, who to give their attention to first - except for Jim, who sits in the chair behind the desk, and Christopher, who has been sitting in the study since breakfast. He sits next to the window, and in the late morning light he looks older than ever. 

Nyota sits down next to Spock on the couch, taking his hand in hers, and Leonard lingers by the doorway before quickly snatching the seat on the other side of her. Number One and Boyce stand before Jim, side by side in front of the desk. 

"You said you wanted more planets in the frontier territories?" Jim says, tapping a stylus against the side of the desk. Before, Spock would expect Jim to look bored - but now he has an unreadable indifference, just aloof enough to motivate but secure enough not to let his emotions seep through, should he have any.

Spock wonders where he learned it. 

"If we can manage it," Number One says, with her own unwavering professionalism. "Ever since the start of all of this, Marcus' ships have been moving into our markets. At this rate we'll have to pay them to be able to get to Qo'Nos." 

"Who are we paying?" Winona asks, stepping into the room.

"Mom," Jim leans over in his seat to catch a glimpse of her; he smiles briefly before going back to his working face. "One says that Marcus' ships are getting between us and our new routes."

"She's right." Winona walks over and sits at the edge of the desk on the side nearer to Christopher; Spock sees the faint smile on his face, too. "There's plenty to fix between here and there."

Jim nods, then doesn't say anything for a moment, his stylus tapping again at the edge of the desk. "…you want more ships, One?"

"That would help." 

"What about you, Phil?" Jim looks at Boyce, who looks at Number One and then back at Jim.

"Chris once said that when the time came, One and I could spin off our own company to cover the outer frontiers, once Fed space became too big for one man. Right, Chris?"

Everyone looks at Christopher, who nods. Jim shifts in his chair, leaning on an elbow. "I'll tell you what: I'll support both of you in the split, but only after the Enterprise is ready to ship out again and Mom has everything in order here. After that, we'll be in a better position to deal with the division, and I'll be able to answer any questions we have left." 

Spock can't tell if Number One is annoyed; her emotions have always been hidden from him. Regardless, she nods. "Thank you, Jim. I'll see you in the city."

"See you then." Jim smiles, and his smile doesn't fade as he watches Number One and Boyce leave the room. 

 

\---

They sit on the patio in the back, where Jim can see the rolling hills of brown grass and gnarled oaks stretch towards the ocean. A fan spins lazily above them, providing a cool breeze against the afternoon heat, but it's mid-May and comfortably warm. 

Chris sits in a large wicker chair, sipping from a short glass of wine he balances on his knee. Jim sits on the sofa and eats little; the gruyere sits untouched. He's too busy thinking about the chess game he's playing in San Francisco, the ships circling Earth and the core planets, the tenuous relationship they're trying to strengthen.

"Spock told me you had a friend on Gault."

Jim doesn't move and doesn't look at Chris; there's a single oak tree sitting on the top of a hill int he distance, and he focuses on that instead. "Yeah."

"Did you like her?"

For a moment, Jim doesn't know how to answer the question; he laughs quietly and brings a hand up to his chin, shifts in his chair. "Yeah, I did," he says. He thinks about the pregnancy test box he found. "But it doesn't matter now."

"It always matters, Jim. You knew someone, they changed you, and now you live with those changes; you don't ignore that because they're gone." Chris pauses to take a sip of wine. "I know you want to, after this year. You think you have to sit in front of everyone and act like none of this has affected you…but that's part of leading a family like this, Jim. If you want to lead it."

"You think I don't?"

At first, Chris doesn't say anything. He has a tight smile and his fingers twist the stem of the glass. Jim sits up a little straighter in his chair. 

"Your mother and I…we didn't want you to get involved in this, Jim," Chris says, with a heavy, forlorn weariness to his voice that makes Jim look up, worried. Chris's gaze keeps far off to the hills, his glass hanging in his hand, and for the first time Jim thinks he looks - tired.

"What do you mean?" Because he doesn't understand which part of this they wanted to keep him from - the murder, the money, or the power.

Chris sighs. "This. Controlling the fleet. You would have had power, yes, but somewhere else. A colonial governor, maybe President of the Federation…then we wouldn't have to keep playing this game around those politicians."

"As if it would be any easier." Jim snorts. "Besides, Spock's the one with the real power."

"Maybe." A smile tugs at the corner of Chris's mouth. "But he's not the face of it. Your enemies won't come after him when they want something done." 

"They better not."

The words lurch out of him too quick and too protective; Chris looks over and Jim looks away so he can't see his smile. "Don't be embarrassed, Jim," he says softly. "I know what Spock means to you. Hell, I know what you mean to him."

"Meant."

"Don't try lying to me, son." Chris takes a sip of his wine before setting the glass aside. "I've been around both of you long enough to know when something's up."

"Yeah, and you know that he has Uhura and I have Bones, and we already tried…we've tried, before. It didn't work." Jim knows that Chris knows, or he's suspected, because Chris isn't blind. Too much of that relationship happened in and around the house - the whispers and the yelling, but also the held hands and the quiet, leaning comfort. He swallows hard.

"It didn't work then. But now you're both different men. You have better people around you."

"I'm not leaving Bones."

"I'm not asking you to."

"Then what - "

Chris laughs, and he waves off the topic. "Just think about it, Jim." He takes another drink of his wine, finishing off the wine while Jim sits there, brow furrowed.

"I don't have time to think about this," he sighs, "not when I'm trying to find who's going to betray me next."

"The thing about traitors," Chris starts in a low voice, "is that they will always make themselves known, eventually. You just have to wait them out."

"And if they try to kill me?"

"Then you know exactly who they are." 

\---

Bones invites all of them to his place on a Friday night to get them out of the house - and into another. 

Jim asked him how he got it once, and Bones had just smirked and said, "I know people, too, Jim." 

After a rousing dinner of cornbread and whiskey-altered beans, they migrate to the living room and fall into the big sectional that curled around the old-fashioned fireplace. Jim and Spock sit at the opposite corners and Uhura and Bones lounge back between them. 

Two glasses of wine and two glasses of bourbon sit on the coffee table. Jim closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the cushions, and then he hears Uhura starts to giggle and Bones snorts.

Jim cracks open an eye. "What?" 

"Before you two go all sleeping beauty on me," Bones pats Jim on the thigh, "We need to talk about something." 

Jim pulls himself back to completely paying attention, and he sees Spock straightening up, too. "Okay, we're awake, I think," he flashes Spock a smile. "What do we want to talk about?"

"Us," Nyota says, looking between Spock and the other two. "A lot has happened while you were gone, Jim, and I just want to make sure we're all on the same page."

Jim blinks. He knows a lot has happened, and Bones knows what happened on Jim's end…but how complicated could this be? "Well, you and Spock are still together, right?" Spock nods. "And Bones and I are…"

"Something," Bones says, which is about as descriptive as Jim can get. 

"And I know you guys got close with Bones while I was gone," Jim continues, "So is that what this is about? You two want to see him still?"

"Not just Leo," Nyota says as she puts her hand on Bones' knee, then looks at Jim. "But you, too." 

"Me?" Jim scoffs at first, but the idea is - it's crazy, even if he had thought about it before. He stands up, moving away from Bones and closer to the fireplace, burning quietly around a concrete log. "Why me? Uhura, if you've got Bones and Spock, isn't that enough, I mean…they'll give you what you need. You've seen how much baggage comes when you're with me." People die because of me.

"But I already have it." Uhura stands from her seat and walks around the table to stand in front of him. She grabs his hands and holds them firmly in front of him, her grip surprisingly strong. "If I'm with Leo - he loves you too much, so he has it, too. I still get to see it, but I want to help you, Jim. Let me help."

Jim looks at her for a long moment, standing before him with hot determination and an unrelenting grip, and Jim sighs. "If Bones is okay with it…then yeah, you'll have me. Don't take this the wrong way; I've thought about this," he offers a small smile, "but don't say I didn't warn you."

Bones leans forward to grab his glass of bourbon off the table. "Before we forget," he says before he sips, "what about you and Spock?"

Jim glances at Spock, who meets his gaze for only a brief moment. "What about us?"

Bones rolls his eyes. "What about us? You hear this, Nyota? We're hitching ourselves to a couple of fence posts."

Nyota smiles at Jim, but it's less to put him at ease and more of a 'quit fucking around' smile. "There's a lot of history neither of you will talk about." Jim does not want to have this conversation. "And we won't ask for a life story right now, but we just want to know: are you two going to be comfortable with each other? Can we all be comfortable like this?"

Jim focuses his attention on Spock, tucked up into his corner of the couch with a watchful gaze. Spock seems unaffected as he glances from Bones, to Uhura, and finally to Jim, where his gaze holds. "I have no problem with this arrangement," Spock says in a deceptively neutral tone, and suddenly Jim feels the familiar urge to punch him in the face. 

"Jim?" Bones asks.

"…no, not yet." Jim pulls his hands from Uhura's grip and walks right over to Spock, standing in front of him and filling his peripheral. Spock stares up at him with a cool gaze, one hand resting on the arm rest of the sofa. "If I'm going to be okay with all of us as one thing, and you being a part of it, Spock - I want you to be on the Enterprise."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Spock." Jim sets his hands on his hips, feet firmly planted into the rug in case Spock wants to try anything. (Jim almost wishes that he would.) "If you're going to be a part of this, you should be on the Enterprise. I don't care; I've been through that pain of trying to be long-distance with a workaholic on Earth. I have tried to squeeze emotion out of a message that isn't there. But you know what? I don't want to put them through that. They deserve better. Space is fucking lonely. Don't make it worse." 

Nobody moves or breathes for a second, at least, and then Spock starts to stand from his seat. Despite his conviction, Jim's too on edge to keep where he was; he steps back once, twice, but he's still so close, too close to Spock, and Jim can't tell if he's angry. The total calm scares him more. 

Their gazes meet. Spock searches Jim's eyes, and Jim wills himself not to look away, but he nearly jumps when he feels the hand at his shoulder. He glances down to see Spock's fingers curling in his shirt, then the other hand cups his jaw, and Jim looks up just in time to see Spock lean forward and kiss him. 

It's soft, lingering, and while it doesn't extinguish Jim's lasting anger it does unwind some tension from his shoulders. His hand comes up to cup Spock's shoulder before Spock pulls away. (Nyota must have finally taught him how to be tender.) "…you gonna join us, or not?"

"I will."

Jim lets out a sigh of relief, and he presses his forehead to Spock's as Nyota comes up beside them. "I have waited so fucking long for you to say that," Jim mutters.

"I know."

He still wants to punch Spock in the face.

 

\---

The sky over the ranch south of San Francisco is blue with streaks of white clouds reaching inland. The air smells salty but not too wet. Fighting cabin fever, Christopher Pike saddles his horse for a ride around the ranch.

 

"Excuse me," Jim steps away from a discussion about reflector arrays, trusting Uhura to pick the right one for the Enterprise, and pulls out his buzzing comm. "Mom?"

"Jim," his mother's voice sounds cracks but it doesn't waver. Jim's blood runs cold. "Something's happened to Chris. Come back to the ranch, Jim. Please."

His mother never says please.

 

"You know who hasn't relaxed for a day since this all started?" Leonard had asked him. "You."

And Spock had said to him, "You have not relaxed either." So now they are here.

The waves of the ice-cold Pacific lap up against his bare ankles. Rather than watch the surf, Spock watches how the sand flows with the water, how the boundary layer forms around the shape of his feet like a starship squeezing through warp.

"Spock!" Leonard calls. Spock looks over his shoulder to see Leonard waving at him from their beach towel. "Winona called. We gotta head back. Pike's hurt." 

Spock stares at him, and then he looks out towards the horizon, letting the roar consume his thoughts rather than the adrenaline. No, Winona would never call if Pike were simply hurt; she prefers Spock at arms length. Pike is not 'hurt,' but he doesn't dare think about what he really is.

 

Winona's eyes are red and puffy, and she's the one that embraces Jim after she tells him Chris is dead. He cries against her shoulder like he is five and upset on his birthday, like he is fourteen and he is so hungry, like he has lost the own real father figure he has ever known. 

 

Spock lies on his bed in his room - in Christopher's house - with Nyota curled next to him and Leonard sitting by his side. Again, he can feel the grief pouring through the walls and pulling at his control, but he keeps his arm around Nyota and his hand in Leonard's and he - manages. 

 

\---

"Let's get out of here," Jim says from the doorway of Spock's room, and Spock agrees without question.

Jim drives south along an old highway that hugs the coast. They don't talk. A collection of old rock songs plays from the sound system; the playlist hasn't changed since Spock first heard it over three years ago. "Can't mess with perfection," Jim had said once, at a table with eight other people and twelve bottles on the table. (Spock remembers that night because of how Christopher had yelled at them both, for something idiotic.)

They pull off onto a winding little road that stops at a small cliffside overhang. The old, cracked pavement isn't large enough for two cars, but it faces the ocean at a perfect angle to watch the waves and drown in the sunset.

Jim shuts off the engine and the stereo with it. They sit in silence for a few moments until Jim sighs and leans over his steering wheel, staring at the horizon. "I am so fucking tired of things happening to us, Spock."

"I understand your complaint." 

"I know you do." Jim leans back in his seat again and shifts to face Spock. "What if - we stopped these guys from bothering us again?" 

This is a perfect moment to say something moral and objective about indiscriminately eliminating all of your enemies: how their organizations will simply elect new leaders in the event of a coup, how blind killing solves little. His instinct is to be reasonable, but he sees the conviction in Jim's blue eyes, and Spock can't disagree. Not with grief so close at hand.

Jim slides across the seat to press against Spock's side. He reaches out to take Spock's hand, slowly twining their fingers together - deliberate, Spock believes, just so he can feel the calluses of Jim's fingertips and the warmth of his palm and the hum of his thoughts. "You know what I want to do."

"I do."

"Will you help me?"

"Of course." 

"Good." Jim leans in and kisses him, gentle at first, but more desperate with each second that passes. He climbs into Spock's lap and Spock grips tight at his hips, grinding up just a little as they both forget to breath.

"Spock," Jim says breathlessly when he pulls back, pupils blown, "I want you to fuck me, now."

"Here?"

"Right here." Jim grinds his weight down into Spock's lap, and Spock bites hard at his neck. "C'mon, before I change my mind."

"I doubt you will."

"That an insult, Spock?"

"You know what my insults sound like, Jim." 

"Yeah. Wonder how." The sour tone in Jim's voice doesn't escape him, but Jim never stops moving, and Spock doesn't try to stop him - but it makes pulling his clothes off that much harder.

\---

Chris' family has owned the land in Mojave for generations. Ever since Jim can remember, it's never been more than a weekend home, a place to get far away from the city, but now - now it's his. 

The land's been in Chris' family long enough that there's a small family plot on the very edge of the property with graves reaching back all the way to the third world war, pre-contact. The plot has been mostly unkept since the death of the last relative though, Chris' mother two decades ago, and since then brown brush and small mesquite trees have grown up between the plots. 

The morning after they come into the house, Jim wakes up just after dawn and heads out to begin clearing the brush. He clears most of the grass and then Bones come out to join him, carrying a large jug of water with him. "You staying hydrated?" he asks, holding the jug out.

Jim takes it with a grin. "Now I am."

Bones smiles faintly as Jim drinks. "Need some help?"

"A little, yeah." 

Bones helps him clear the rest of the brush and start to prune the mesquite: those that can be removed or chopped down to size are, and those who are too thick to remove are simply cut so they won't jab anyone. Winona brings them lemonade later and shows them how to operate the old tractor in the barn, until everything looks clean and neat under the summer sun.

 

Jim remembers surviving the funeral rites with a stoic expression Spock would be proud of. He stands under the shade a few meters away from the casket while colleagues, diplomats, and business partners (and rivals) step up one by one to pay their respects. 

Marcus catches his eye and nods; Jim gives him another silent nod. He watches Marcus after the older man steps away; he sees through the crowd that Number One steps up to him, shakes his hand, then steps away.

While Number One weaves through the crowd back to where the family is, Jim looks over to Spock standing next to him; they share a silent moment of understanding before Jim gives his attention to Number One.

"Jim," she says, leaning in to keep her voice down. "Marcus wants to meet with you, just to make sure all the corporations have an understanding after - this."

"Okay." Jim doesn't venture a yes or no.

"I can arrange the meeting on neutral territory in Monterey - does that sound good to you?"

Jim nods.

"Good." Number One steps away from him and slides back into the crowd again. Jim looks at Spock.

"I cannot say I am surprised," Spock says, looking back at Jim. "She is very perceptive about where the best business lies."

"Yeah." He takes Spock's calm for himself, smothering the anger that threatens to burst from him.

"Did you want to resolve this before the Enterprise leaves dock?"

"No." Jim turns his back to the procession and the casket, and he looks out over the crowd of people sitting behind them: Uhura, Bones, his mother, Sam's family, Boyce, Sulu, Chekov, Scotty…he leans closer to Spock. "I want to be in space before anything happens. Can you make that happen?"

"Of course."  
\---

The morning after Enterprise leaves dock, Leonard checks his news streams - an old habit from when Jim was gone - and the headlines are: QUADRUPLE MURDER AMONG STARSHIP TYCOONS. 

He sets his coffee aside and reads further. Marcus, found with his head crushed due to an unfortunate construction accident. Mendez, shot and killed in a club. Chaudhari, shot while walking on Embassy Row. Wei, drowned in her roof-top pool.

The names faces rattle around Leonard's thoughts until - he remembers he's seen all these people before, at the party back at the funeral.

He gets up from his desk and makes a bee-line for the bridge. Jim's not in his chair. Spock stands from his station to attend to him. "Doctor McCoy - "

"Where's Jim?"

"His ready room." 

Leonard starts walking towards that closed door on the other side of the bridge - or tries, Spock steps in his way and raises a hand to almost touch his chest. "Is there something you want to ask him?" Spock asks.

"Yes, there is something I want to ask him," Leonard snaps back, trying to keep his voice low in case the entire bridge gets curious (which they probably are already). "Now are you gonna let me pass or do I have to make a scene?"

"One could argue that - "

"Spock."

Spock looks at him for one long moment before nodding, and he leads the way to the ready room. The doors part to reveal Jim sitting at his desk, leaned back as if he were dictating something to the computer.

When Jim sees them, he sits up. "Computer, end recording."

The door shuts and Spock is still there. Leonard decides to go ahead with it. He clears his throat. "Jim - did you see the news?"

"Not today."

"Oh yeah?" Leonard gives him a grim smile. "I thought you'd be happy to hear that all the old tycoons Pike used to talk to just happened to drop dead."

Jim raises his eyebrows. "That's strange."

"Yeah." Leonard scoffs. "Real strange. You wouldn't happen to be behind it, would you?"

"You know I've been on this ship the whole time, Bones," Jim explains, still sitting in his chair. "How would I - "

The door swishes open again and Nyota steps in. "Captain," she walks up to stop next to Leonard. He glances down to see her hands balled into fists by her side. "I heard they found Gary."

"Did they? Where?"

"Gault, near his parent's house. With his throat slit."

Jim doesn't react, and for one frightening moment Leonard thinks he's looking at Spock instead. "I'm sorry to hear that." 

"Jim!" Nyota steps up to Jim's desk. "He was your friend!"

"And now he's dead. What do you want me to say?" Jim rises from his chair and walks around the desk to face both of them. "I'm sorry he's dead, but after Gault, I couldn't protect him anymore. Maybe he had other debts that caught up with them. And as for the people in San Francisco," Jim turns his attention to Leonard, "somebody did us a favor. They're gone. They can't come after us anymore."

"But it's…" Leonard huffs and turns to Spock, still lingering by the closed door. "Spock! Help us out here!"

Spock blinks at him. "Jim is correct: our immediate market rivals have been eliminated." (Leonard shouldn't have asked.)

Nyota looks between Jim and Spock, then focuses on Jim. "Did you…did you kill them all, Jim?"

Jim smiles softly, looking at her with an unwavering gaze. "No," he says, "I didn't."

For a few moments they stand in silence, Nyota pursing her lips as she studies Jim's face for falsehood. Even Leonard can't spot any tic that suggests Jim is lying, even beneath that pleasant mien he uses to disarm people (one that Leonard thinks he can look beyond, but maybe he can't).

"Okay." Nyota relaxes with a slow breath. "Just…let's not have something like that happen here. I want the Enterprise to stay a safe place."

"Of course." Jim nods.

"…I'll see you later, then." Nyota turns on her heel and heads out. On the way she brushes Spock's arm, but says nothing as she returns to her station. 

"You got something else, Bones?" Jim asks.

Leonard looks back towards Jim, still unaffected and calm from everything they've said. He thinks for a moment, wondering if Jim's told the truth, and then he shakes his head. "Nah. I'll catch up with you at lunch."

"I'll see you then."

"Yeah." As Leonard walks out, Spock steps further into the room; their eyes meet for a moment, but then he looks away towards Jim. 

Outside of the office, Leonard half-turns to look through the pocket doors before they close. Jim steps up to Spock's side and pats his back, as if for a job well-done, and just the doors slide shut, Jim looks up to meet Leonard's gaze.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to check out [the mix](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1046523) or bigger versions of the [art](http://nescienx.livejournal.com/290155.html)!


End file.
